Harry Potter and the Wizard's Tome
by godblessmaryoloughlin
Summary: 7th year, obviously now AU. As the trio set out in search for Voldemort's Horcruxes, Dumbledore has made plans for Harry's development. How will Harry react as he approaches his final goal? I started writing this well before the 7th book was published.
1. Chapter 1

A loud thunderclap echoed through the window of the Hogwarts Headmistress's office, as a persistent drizzle fell from the billowing clouds above. The storm had begun a short time after the Hogwarts Express had left Hogsmeade station for London. Professor McGonagall was sitting in her new office, reflecting on the loss of Dumbledore. Her thoughts strayed to Harry Potter, and she wondered how he was doing on his first night back at the Dursley's. He'd informed her of his plans for the next few weeks after Dumbledore's funeral. He would be staying at Privet Drive for three weeks, and then attending Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour's wedding at the burrow. The wedding had been scheduled two weeks before Harry's birthday. As for after the wedding, Harry had left her in the dark. As she continued staring at the dark clouds rolling slowly across the sky, she heard someone speak.

"Ah, Minerva, alone at last."

The Headmistress froze in shock. She never thought she'd hear that voice again.

"Albus!"

"Over hear, Minerva," said the voice, with a hint of amusement.

Standing, McGonagall followed the voice past the snoozing portraits on the wall to the one over her desk. She suddenly realised that it was not Dumbledore at all, but Dumbledore's portrait. All at once, the emotional barriers that she had built up around herself came tumbling down, and a sharp lance of anger and sorrow pierced her heart. She felt an immense desire to scream at Dumbledore's portrait for scaring her like that, but then the logical part of her brain, the part that she had let lead her most of her life, kicked in, and she controlled herself, settling slowly back into her armchair.

"I see that I took you quite by surprise, then." There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he said this.

"Yes, I –I –I suppose you did," answered McGonagall, trying to regain her composure.

"Hmm, it seems as though in waiting to speak with you alone and pretending to be asleep, I have in fact drifted off like my companions. No matter, I am quite awake now. Minerva, I have some terribly important and extremely confidential information to discuss with you." Dumbledore's voice, or rather his portrait's, had suddenly taken a very serious tone. McGonagall was still somewhat flustered, and was having trouble keeping up with Dumbledore.

"Before I tell you anything, make sure no-one can listen in on our conversation." As McGonagall complied, casting silencing charms to go with the already impressive wards around the office, Dumbledore continued.

"Also, I'll need proof that it is really you. What really is my favourite sweet?"

McGonagall looked slightly taken aback, before she smiled and answered, "Those Muggle Lindt chocolate balls. The milk chocolate ones, though you also enjoy the hazelnut variety."

"Ah, yes, quite right. Better to be safe than sorry. Minerva, best you sit down. We have much to discuss."

McGonagall took her seat behind the desk, then swivelled her chair to face the portrait.

"Is it true about the breakout?"

"Yes, unfortunately," replied McGonagall. "It hasn't reached the Prophet yet, but bad news travels quickly. Not a Death Eater left in custody."

"Yes, quite unfortunate," replied the portrait. "Terrible business, but it was only a matter of time. We can't rely on Azkaban any more, I'm afraid. But on to more pressing matters. Minerva, I need to tell you how, or rather, why I died."

This was not what McGonagall was expecting, and the surprise showed clearly on her face.

"Excuse me, Albus?"

Dumbledore continued as if he hadn't heard.

"My death was expected. I had been planning for it since about Christmas two years ago, though until recently I never would have imagined it would end up as it did. In any case, what I am about to say must not leave this room. You must not tell anyone else, Harry included."

McGonagall held her breath, eyes wide, apprehension and disbelief playing across her features.

"Severus killed me under my own orders."

"No!" exclaimed McGonagall after a moment's silence, rising from her chair, the full force of her friend and mentor's revelation hitting her. "No! How could you do that to us, to Harry, to the wizarding world? What about the school? What about Voldemort?!"

"Minerva, please, I have my reasons."

With great difficulty, she calmed herself down, and sat back on her seat. In the silence that followed, the only sound that could be heard was the buzz and rattle of the silver instruments on the desk. Even the thunder and rain seemed to have paused.

"Minerva, I was never the one to defeat Tom. That job is for Harry. By ordering Severus to kill me, I was doing everything in my power to help Harry. I am not as quick or as agile, or even as magically powerful as I used to be, though I suspect the latter is merely psychological. Severus warned me of young Mr Malfoy's plot to kill me as soon as he heard, though he was unaware of just how he planned to do it. I told him that Narcissa would most likely ask him to protect Draco, and that should she ask him to help, he should take an Unbreakable Vow. Though Tom was reasonably happy with Severus, we both felt he needed some way to cement Tom's trust in him. I knew Draco would not be able to kill me. I have watched him in all the time he has been at the school. Though he may be exceedingly arrogant and prejudiced, he is not a killer. Severus was to come and finish the job. Severus of course protested, understandably, but in the end he trusted me, enough to kill me.

"It is actually very lucky that you sent Filius to Severus. He had not been informed of the Death Eaters' arrival."

McGonagall had sat speechless as she absorbed this. Struck by a sudden thought, she said, "But Severus stunned Filius. Surely, if he'd really been on our side, he'd have let him rejoin the fight?"

"If he had really been a Death Eater, he would have killed Filius, and most likely Ms Granger and Ms Lovegood. As it happened, he instructed them to go inside his office and look after him. Ms Granger and Ms Lovegood, as I take it from the overheard conversations in this room, would have quickly realised he had been stunned. From what I have heard, Filius rejoined the fight quite quickly."

"Yes, yes, he did, I suppose. And yes, had Flitwick seen him joining the Death Eaters, it could have caused some complications."

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, a smile on his face. Even as a portrait he enjoyed teaching.

"But why kill yourself?"

"My dear Minerva, I was already dying. I had a year to go, maybe two if I was lucky, but I was unable to give much more to the Order's effort. I cannot tell you why it is better this way, but the fact that I cannot tell you should convince you that it is important enough."

"But we miss you, Albus."

"Talk to me here."

"But it's just not the same."

"No, it's not," said the portrait, "but there are more important things in life to worry about. Voldemort's fall is just one of them."

McGonagall just sniffed, her eyes suspiciously moist. The initial shock of actually speaking with Dumbledore's portrait was wearing off, and she was beginning to realise what this all meant.

"Now, Minerva, has Harry informed you of his plans for the summer?"

"Yes, he has. He plans to stay with his relatives until Bill and Fleur's wedding at the Burrow. He said he'll attend the wedding, and then start his quest to defeat You-Kno-, I mean, V-Voldemort."

"Hmm. Minerva, may I ask you a favour?" asked Dumbledore, though he knew McGonagall wouldn't refuse.

"Of course, Albus, anything," replied McGonagall.

"After the wedding, the next day would probably be most appropriate, tell Harry I need to speak with him. Bring him to Order Headquarters. I have a second portrait there, which I can travel to from here, much like Phineus over there."

There was a grunt as Phineus Nigellus recognised his name, though his eyes remained tight shut as he continued to pretend to sleep.

"Of course Albus. I'm sure he won't refuse." McGonagall paused for a moment, and then asked the question that had been bugging her since she first saw the portrait those few days ago. "Albus, what are you. I mean, as a portrait. It feels as though I'm talking to you, the real you, but it can't really be. I mean, that is basically immortality, isn't it."

"Minerva, to put it bluntly, I am two things. A copy of a personality, and a way to store information. I know everything that the real me knew, plus what you have told me in our conversation, and anything else I have overheard since I have been a portrait. The difference between a human and me is that I have no soul. I am merely a copy of a personality, and this personality cannot change. People change as they grow older and learn more. I won't. As such, over time, my personality will reconcile less and less with what I know, though it would likely be a slow process. This is why so many portraits you see, particularly old ones, are a bit.... off."

At this point, McGonagall was put in the mind of Sir Cadogan, the unbalanced (both physically and mentally) knight of the North Tower, amongst others.

"As a portrait," Dumbledore continued, "I have no sense of myself. The only reason I use the words "I" and "me" is habit. I am like a computer program, albeit a very complicated one."

Professor McGonagall just looked confused at the mention of computer programs. Dumbledore smiled, and said, "Ask Harry, or probably better, Ms Granger."

"I'll do that, Albus."

Professor McGonagall spent the rest of the night talking with Dumbledore's portrait about the school and whether it would be closed, as well as times gone past. At that moment, to Minerva McGonagall, it almost was like Dumbledore was still alive. For the first time since the attack, she felt a sliver of happiness.

Did a bit of a ninja edit here, as there was a part about the breakout from Azkaban that I'd written in and then edited out before I published, without replacing. It's back in there now. Please R&R. :)


	2. Chapter 2

"So, Severus," a high-pitched voice hissed from the shadows. "You were successful."

Snape's black eyes stared at the wall. "Of course, my Lord. Dumbledore's trust made it an easy task in the end."

"But from what I gather," continued the voice from behind him, "young Draco could not finish the job."

Snape paused. He knew Draco's life was in the balance, his failed attempt at Dumbledore's life putting him in great danger. Though at the same time, Snape suspected Voldemort had already made his decision.

"Draco was in a difficult position," the oily-haired former Professor continued. "You're aware, of course, of Dumbledore's way with words." He paused, sensing a movement in the shadows from the corner of his eye. "He can engineer doubt in all but the most secure and experienced of minds."

"You're fond of the boy, aren't you, Severus," remarked Voldemort, slowly materialising from the shadows into the dim green light cast by enchanted lamps. "I do not blame you, he has great potential, much like his father at the same age." This last statement was delivered with such cold disdain that it was all Snape could do not to shiver.

"Draco was the one who disarmed Dumbledore, a task many a powerful wizard has died attempting," Snape said by way of reply. "It is my personal belief that that should count for something. He also repaired the Vanishing Cabinet. Without it, Hogwarts could not have been infiltrated. My achievement would not have been possible were it not for Draco's actions."

"Yes, Severus, you are quite right," Voldemort replied, walking ever-so-slowly behind Snape's back, wand twirling menacingly between his fingers. "You have proven your worth to me; your opinion is one I value."

"Thank you, Lord," replied Snape in a breathy voice. "I am humbled."

"Send them in," called Voldemort sharply, and a short, balding figure with watery eyes who had been standing inconspicuously in the corner of the room ran to the door, opened it, and ushered in four figures.

"Thank you, Wormtail," said Voldemort icily. "Welcome, Lucius, Draco, Narcissa. And thank you for attending, Bellatrix."

"My Lord," began Narcissa, fear in her voice, "Though Snape performed the act, Draco was still successf-"

"Quiet," shot Voldemort, in a soft voice more piercing than any scream could manage. "You will speak only when spoken to, Narcissa, if you want your son to live."

Narcissa looked terrified, distraught, but the subtle implication that Draco might yet live gave her the strength to control herself.

"I trust your short stay in Azkaban was not too taxing, Lucius?" enquired Voldemort silkily.

"Azkaban is always taxing, my Lord, but a sacrifice worth making," replied Lucius humbly.

"Severus here has been recounting the events leading up to Dumbledore's death," began Voldemort. At the mention of Dumbledore's death, Bellatrix gave a quiet cackle of glee. "You will be pleased to know that he spoke very highly of Draco's achievements, despite his inability to complete the task. I am inclined to agree. Dumbledore's powers lay not just in his magic; he could be very persuasive."

"My Lord, you are too kind," said Lucius, bowing. Narcissa's breathing was getting faster, hardly daring herself to believe the words coming from the Dark Lord's mouth. Draco simply stood, as he had since he entered, face downcast, trembling, hands clenched tightly, trying to forget the terror he was facing.

"Yes, there is great potential in the boy, and it would be a terrible, terrible shame for it to go to waste," continued Voldemort, though his voice carried a tone that made Narcissa's hair stand on end. Lucius looked on apprehensively.

"And yet, he could not complete the task required of him," Voldemort said slowly, dragging out every ominous syllable. "Severus had to step in, revealing his true loyalties and losing me my best spy." Narcissa's face fell. Lucius' features remained stable, but his eyes widened, panic stirring in his chest.

"Of course, I am now accustomed to Malfoys failing me," Voldemort said icily, walking up to Lucius' face, feeling his breath, and fixing Lucius with a stare that would freeze fire. "I do not intend for it to happen again. _Crucio_."

At once, Lucius crumpled to the floor at Voldemort's feet, agonised screams echoing off the stone walls as he thrashed and rolled in excruciating pain.

"You are too proud, Lucius, too arrogant for your own good," came Voldemort's soft voice, somehow clearly audible over Lucius' screams.

The curse was lifted, and Lucius slowly rose onto all fours, and then his feet, unsteady.

"You could have been great for me, Lucius. If ever you could have abandoned your own selfish pride, and served me without reservation, you could have risen above all others. But now look at you," spat Voldemort as he lifted his wand again. "If I am going to spare Draco, I must ensure that he never falls under the same illusions you did, Lucius; the Malfoy name means nothing to me. The Malfoy name is mud. My power stretches beyond petty names. Your name exists only to serve me. You have made it so, Lucius."

And with that, he raised his wand again. "_Crucio_," he whispered once more, and once more Lucius Malfoy crumpled to the floor in agony, only this time, his wife and son fell with him. Bellatrix had turned her wand on her own sister, a darkly manic smile upon her face as she betrayed her blood, while Peter Pettigrew, Wormtail, had Draco at his feet.

Snape watched on without expression as the torture continued. He had seen it many times before, though it was confronting to see the betrayal written across the Malfoys' faces whenever the curses were momentarily lifted.

"Wormtail, cease," Voldemort hissed after a while, and Draco stopped screaming, lying panting on the stone floor. Voldemort and Bellatrix continued their punishment. "Make him watch."

Narcissa had begun to bleed from her nose and ears, while Lucius had gone a deathly pale.

"Do you see, young Draco?" hissed Voldemort from across the room, as Wormtail forced Draco, under his wand, to watch his parents' suffering. "Do you see the price of arrogance and pride? Your parents are weak, nothing, and neither are you." He lifted the curse momentarily. Lucius too had begun to bleed from his nose. Narcissa's movements had stopped as well, as Bellatrix lifted her wand. "You, on the other hand, have the potential to change, to learn. Your anger will fuel you. You will learn this is the only way."

A ragged voice rose from Voldemort's feet. "Please..... Lord, spare....spare me," came Lucius' voice, crackled, broken, pathetic. "Take.... take Draco instead.... please...."

"Father....." came Draco's voice, stunned with soft betrayal.

"Lucius, how could you?" sneered Voldemort, as Narcissa gave a small whimper. "Your own son?"

"Please..... I have.... I have been loyal...."

"You have been nothing but selfish, Lucius, since the moment I met you," snapped Voldemort. "Do not deny it, it is what made you strong, but now it is time you paid the price for your lack of devotion."

The torture began again. Fresh screams filled the room, bouncing off the stone walls and mingling with the writhing shadows cast by the flickering green lamps to create a confusion of pain, sorrow and betrayal. Draco absorbed this; his father, who was willing to sacrifice his own son, dying before his eyes in an agony most unimaginable; his mother, his impotent protector, frail and pathetic as her scream turned hoarse, harsh, inhuman.

"Bella, I tire of this," said Voldemort wearily, as the screams eventually grew dim. "Finish them."

"With pleasure, my Lord," Bella replied, as Voldemort lifted the curse.

"No.... Bella...." croaked Narcissa feebly.

"_Avada Kedavra_," sang Bellatrix gleefully, and a bolt of green light struck her sister in the chest, sending her flying into the wall to land in a crumpled heap, dead. Draco watched, his expression unreadable, his agony unknowable, as his world crumbled. Lucius was next; he landed face down on top of Narcissa, husband and wife lying in a sinister, morbid mockery of an embrace.

"Well done, Bellatrix," said Voldemort, matter of fact. "You shall be rewarded. Look after young Draco now," he continued as he swept out of the room, Wormtail following faithfully behind.

Snape watched as Bellatrix sauntered over to Draco, who had collapsed as Wormtail lifted his wand to leave.

"Here now, Draco, auntie Bella's here," came Bellatrix's lilting, musical, sing-song voice. "You're safe. Everything will be alright now."

Bellatrix knelt down and took Draco into her arms. Draco numbly returned the hug, his eyes dead, his spirit crushed, and Snape felt with force the horror of this violation of nature, a son taking his parents' killer into his arms.

"Ready to go, Severus?" called Bellatrix, as she released Draco, supporting him as he rose.

"Of course," replied Snape smoothly, his voice never wavering, and they swept from the room, leaving the corpses of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy for Nagini.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry Potter sat at his shabby desk in his bedroom, gazing at the bright stars that littered the sky. This summer was very much like the last, surprisingly chilly given the season. Most nights had been cloudy and misty, so a clear one like tonight was somewhat of a rarity. Harry fantasised about taking off on his broom and touching the stars. His troubles always seemed to melt away when he was airborne, and he had never had greater troubles than at that moment. He'd been thinking about Dumbledore. He still couldn't quite believe that he was gone. Ron and Hermione had been over as often as possible, and this was one of the many things they would talk about. Every so often Harry would catch himself still speaking of Dumbledore in the present, and this would often bring a tear to his eye. He, ever Harry, would quickly brush the tear away and continue speaking.

Having Ron and Hermione there as often as they were had made his stay at the Dursley's far more enjoyable than previous summers. They'd been over almost constantly since the start of the holidays, something for which Harry was immensely grateful. The Dursleys had refused at first, but when Harry had pointed out that both Ron and Hermione were old enough to use magic, the objections died in their throats. They'd decided to take a short holiday, and didn't bother to tell Harry where. Ron and Hermione had therefore been there to talk with him, be it about Voldemort and Dumbledore, the recent escapes at Azkaban ("I heard the Dementors have left their posts completely now," Ron had said), how worried Hermione's parents were about the dark struggle they could never understand, or the Chudley Cannons' premiership hopes for next season. Harry had a great time teasing Ron about their recent bottom-of-the-table finish. At first Ron had been a bit sensitive, but then his humour returned and he brushed off the teasing with an "I'm used to it." His friends kept him from dwelling too much on Dumbledore's death or his impending quest to destroy Voldemort's Horcruxes, without avoiding the topic. Whenever he would get depressed, or show signs of panic, they were there to help him out of it, encourage him, and examine it in a detached, matter-of-fact manner that always made it seem easier, at least for a while. They also helped him control his anger. Whenever he was reminded about Snape, his blood began to boil. It even got to the point where he was causing china and glasses to tinkle and chime, both worrying and impressing his friends.

So nights like these, alone, had been a rarity. With the Dursley's gone, at least one of his friends had usually been able to stay the night, and often they both stayed. Ron would sleep on a spare mattress in Harry's room, and Hermione would sleep in Dudley's room, much to her disgust. Harry had also visited the Burrow a couple of times, and had stayed there one night. He wasn't sure how much time he could spend there for the blood magic to be effective, so he didn't dare risk much more time than that. He also didn't want to have to confront Ginny. He had seen the look of hurt and anger that crossed her face when he tried to ignore her at the Burrow. He had barely seen her again the whole time he was there.

Harry sighed. He wasn't sure about Ginny. He knew he liked her, and he knew she liked him. There shouldn't be a problem, should there? Harry, for about the millionth time since he had turned eleven, found himself wishing he was just a simple, ordinary teenage wizard. He decided then and there that if he survived the final battle, which seemed less and less likely to Harry every day, he would try to make things up with Ginny. Then, and only then, because he knew that doing so beforehand would not only put Ginny in danger, but might possibly distract him from his goal.

Harry had discussed the Ginny issue with Ron. Ron told him in no uncertain terms how he'd felt about Harry dumping Ginny like he did.

"Don't tell me you weren't a little bit relieved when I broke up with her," Harry had responded. "You didn't want her in danger any more than I did."

"Yeah, you're right," Ron had replied. "I'm just not sure what I care more about, her safety or both of you being happy."

There had been a meaningful silence between the two friends before Harry continued.

"Look, I don't know if I'm going to beat Voldemort, and even if I do, I'm no certainty to survive."

Ron simply looked at Harry apprehensively, not entirely sure where the conversation was headed. This had been the first time they'd spoken about Harry's actual chances of defeating Voldemort. "But, if it makes you feel any better, if I do beat Voldemort, and I do survive, I'll try to make things up with Ginny."

"Do you promise?" asked Ron, smiling. "Because I will hold you to that."

"Yeah, I promise," said Harry, his head lowered in embarrassment. "I have to admit, those weeks I spent with Ginny were some of the best of my life."

"Good to hear it," said Ron jovially, and he punched Harry's arm to cover his best friend's embarrassment. "Though I may have to take that back if you start giving me details."

"Hey, we're not back together yet," he had objected, semi-serious.

"S'only a matter of time," Ron had said with his usual optimism. "Although," Ron continued, "if you want any chance, you should try to at least clear the air with her pretty soon. At the moment she's pretending you don't exist."

And so Harry had gained full forgiveness in Ron's eyes, and was determined to at least make things civil between himself and Ginny, for the time being.

Harry got up and trudged over to his bed. He lay down and looked over at the clock. All this pondering had stolen the night away. It was seven minutes past twelve. _Already tomorrow_, thought Harry. _Probably time I got some sleep._

_

* * *

  
_

The weeks in the leadup to Bill and Fleur's wedding went by much the same for Harry, though his short stints at the Burrow painted a picture of continually growing tension, panic, disorder and worry as the wedding drew near, and things went wrong. Molly was concerned about the budget (she had refused to let Fleur's side of the family pay any part of the Weasley's share, despite their offers), nobody could agree on seating arrangements, and the bridal party were bickering over, well, everything. It was, as Harry had pointed out to Ron with a laugh, utter chaos.

Charlie was to be Bill's best man, with Fred, George, Ron and Harry to be groomsmen. A friend of Fleur's from Beauxbatons, Jacqueline, would be maid of honour, while Ginny, Gabrielle, and a further two of Fleur's French friends would be bridesmaids. It was also increasingly difficult for Ginny to avoid Harry during these times, which made it even more awkward and obvious when she inevitably managed. As much as he loved visiting the Weasleys, Harry did feel a certain relief whenever he returned to Little Whinging.

In the end, of course, the wedding went off without a hitch. Bill and Fleur married, many tears were shed (not least by Hagrid, prompting some good-natured teasing), the delicious feast which Molly had prepared, with the help of Dobby, Winky and a few other Hogwarts house-elves, was devoured with gusto, and in true Weasley style, a large game of Quidditch broke out, actually taking place above the tables as lunch continued, to rather varied responses ("Never 'ave I seen such a wonderful display of youthful spirit!" exclaimed Fleur's father, as Remus tore after Ginny, while Jacqueline's mother nearly fainted over her dessert, muttering weakly about "the barbarism of it all!"; Hermione's parents simply looked on, stunned).

Late that afternoon, after the celebrations were complete and most of the guests had trickled out, McGonagall approached Harry and asked for a quiet word in the now-deserted living room.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Harry," said McGonagall, not entirely sure where to start. "A few weeks ago, just after that.... night..." She faltered, and brushed a quick tear from her eye.

"Yes," prompted Harry, also feeling emotional.

"Well," she continued, "as I'm sure you know, a portrait of Albus now hangs in my office. I had a conversation with it."

Harry just sat there, not knowing where this was going.

"Well, needless to say, it was amongst the more interesting conversations I have had. Albus, or rather, his portrait, asked me to ask you to go and see him. He suggested tomorrow. He has a portrait at Headquarters. He said that would be the best place to talk to him."

By this time Harry was staring, transfixed, at his shoelaces. The idea of talking with Dumbledore's portrait was daunting to say the least. So soon after he had died! Harry felt upset just thinking about it.

"If you would rather not, I'm sure it could wait a little while," McGonagall offered. "Albus did not suggest it was urgent."

"No, that's OK," replied Harry resolutely. "I'll have to do it sometime. The sooner the better, right?" He gave a weak smile. "Did Professor Dumbledore mention what it was about?"

"No, I'm sorry. I'm as much in the dark as you, unfortunately. Are you going back to stay at Privet Drive, or are you staying here?"

"Going back, I think," Harry replied, a tinge of regret colouring his response. "I've stayed here two nights in a row. Don't want to risk letting the blood protection fail, you know?"

"Hmm. Well, you'll be seventeen in two weeks, am I correct?" Harry nodded. "I'll have to get you something."

Harry was about to protest this, but McGonagall put her hand up, insisting, a gentle smile gracing those usually stern lips.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow morning and we can go see Albus. How does that sound?"

Harry mumbled a thank you. Truth be told, he was feeling very tired. It had been an exhausting day, both physically, with the Quidditch, and emotionally, seeing Bill and Fleur wed, and then this. It wasn't long before he said goodbye to the Weasleys and Hermione, who was staying at the Burrow that night. Mrs Figg had been at the wedding too, and he was following her through the Floo to her house before making his way back to Privet Drive.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry arrived at the Dursleys' front door at around 7:00. Since he wasn't staying at the Burrow for dinner, Molly had made sure that he took some food back with him. This meant that he was trying to juggle a magically heated basket of roast chicken while reaching into his pockets for his key. He noticed that the light was on inside, and was worried that he'd left it on the whole time he'd been away. Eventually he extracted his key, but found after inserting it that the door was open. His first thought was that there were burglars here, but then he realised, with even more trepidation, that the Dursleys must have returned from their mysterious holiday. There was no sign of their car in the driveway, however. Just to be on the safe side, he drew his wand, before quietly entering.

He made his way into the kitchen, basket in one hand, wand in the other, to find his uncle Vernon and cousin Dudley sitting at the table. Their suitcases were yet to be lugged upstairs, and sat on the floor by the table.

"Finally decided to grace us with your presence, then?" Vernon grunted.

"I guess you're back," said Harry, disappointed. He really would have preferred to find burglars. "Where's Aunt Petunia?"

"Buying some dinner. What's that you got there?" his uncle asked, noticing the basket he held.

"Food," said Harry. He noticed, with some amusement, that Dudley's piggy little eyes lit up at this. "Cooked by Molly Weasley," Harry added, smugly. "You know, the witch?" Dudley's interest quickly turned to fear.

"Throw that stuff out," ordered Vernon immediately. "You'll eat good, normal food while we're here."

"Will do," said Harry noncommittally, turning to go upstairs, basket in hand.

"Boy, you throw that poison out this instant. And take our bags up!"

Harry just sighed as he went upstairs. He shoved the food under the loose floorboard in his room, before flopping down on his bed. It wasn't long before he heard the heavy footsteps of his uncle climbing the stairs. There was a loud bang on his door, before he heard the muffled yells of his uncle.

"You come out of there right now and take our bags up!"

Harry was in no mood to argue. He got up, and opened the door. He was confronted by a very red-faced Vernon Dursley, who was not used to Harry being disobedient. For Harry, the threat of his uncle paled in comparison to what Voldemort threatened now that Dumbledore was gone, and he did not feel like being bullied.

Before he knew it, Harry was struck in the head by the open hand of his uncle. He kept his feet, but only just. As his uncle wound up to hit him again, Harry drew his wand.

"You wouldn't dare," Vernon spat furiously, though he did edge backwards. "You aren't seventeen for another two weeks. You'll be expelled from that ruddy school."

"I'm touched you remembered," Harry replied, sarcasm dripping, "but I'm not going back to school next year. I've got bigger things to worry about than a little underage magic."

"Not going back?" Vernon asked, far less sure of himself. "They finally kick you out then?"

By this stage Harry's head was beginning to really ache, and he could feel his fury building. He noticed Dudley watching the scene playing out before him from the bottom of the staircase. The look Harry shot his cousin must have been positively terrifying, because it sent Dudley scurrying back to the kitchen.

"For your information," Harry ground out through clenched teeth, turning back to his uncle, "I have to kill possibly the most powerful and dangerous wizard this world has ever seen." Again, he felt things shake, rattle and chime as he tried to control his temper. "Yes, kill," Harry repeated, seeing the look on Vernon's face as he said this.

"You're a liar," said Vernon, more confidently. "You couldn't kill someone if your life depended on it."

Harry smiled inwardly at the irony. His life very much did depend on it. _Neither can live while the other survives_. Outwardly, however, his face remained the same mask of fury. With a deft swish and a quiet incantation, Harry's uncle was turned into a very large, very fat toad. It wasn't particularly original, but it got Harry's point across nicely. He noticed Dudley was once again staring wide-eyed from the bottom of the staircase. Harry casually pointed his wand in Dudley's direction, making him once again scamper off to the kitchen, clasping very firmly his large backside.

Harry left his uncle as a toad for a while. Petunia arrived about five minutes after their little row. Her first reaction upon seeing the toad was to grab a broom and try to shoo it out of the house. Harry couldn't help his laughing. His revealing that the toad was really Vernon corresponded exactly with an owl arriving, carrying the letter from the Improper Use of Magic Office. After a cursory glance, he realised he was in no real trouble. It wouldn't look good for the ministry to snap the wand of the "Chosen One".

"Put him back!" screamed Petunia. "PUT HIM BACK!"

"OK, OK, just move out of the way."

His aunt complied, and Harry reversed the spell. A very, very, _very_ angry Vernon Dursley appeared where the toad had been a moment before.

"Don't come anywhere near me or I'll do it again," warned Harry, backing towards the staircase. "Read the letter. They don't care I used magic. I'm too valuable to them."

For added effect, Harry levitated the piece of parchment, settling it on his uncle's head. When he saw Vernon grab the letter and begin to read, he turned and walked calmly back upstairs to his room.

He locked his door, and retrieved his food from its hiding place. It was still piping hot due to the charm Molly Weasley had placed on it. He wasn't feeling particularly hungry at that point, so he placed it under the floorboards again. Feeling like he was safe from any Ministry reprimands, Harry continued his use of magic. He magically locked his door, since he knew his relatives had a spare key to the room. Deciding he had taken enough advantage of his unique position for the night (though he still felt he was owed a lot more than a bit of underage magic, given the task he had to complete), he dug up one of his old textbooks. He drifted to sleep reading about the effect of certain ingredients on the Wolfsbane potion, glasses on and fully clothed.

* * *

When morning broke, Harry was already wide awake. Having collapsed into slumber so suddenly the night before, Harry had woken early, and the thought of speaking with Dumbledore's portrait had kept him from getting back to sleep. Finally, at about eight thirty, he got up and had a shower. He made himself some breakfast, and the smell of bacon and eggs brought a groggy Dudley down.

"Mum and Dad's awake," said Dudley, helping himself to some of the breakfast. Harry, out of years of habit, had made enough for everyone. "Neither of them are coming down until you leave the house. Dad was pretty shook up about all that magic."

"And you're not?" asked Harry, not quite sure what to make of Dudley's rather relaxed attitude.

"Nah. It was pretty cool seeing Dad like that, actually," Dudley confided, not quite meeting Harry's eye. Harry by this stage had stopped eating and was scrutinising his cousin carefully. He wondered vaguely if he had been Imperiused, or if it was a Death Eater in disguise, who didn't quite have Dudley's character nailed.

"Sometimes I wish I could do that," he continued. "I mean, it wasn't like you hurt him or anything, right?"

"No, he'll be fine," said Harry with a bewildered smile. "Although I was a bit nervous picking that particular transfiguration. I've only managed it twice before, and the rest of the time it screwed up. It's pretty difficult."

They ate the rest of their breakfasts in silence. Harry decided there was no harm in asking.

"Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?" he asked, genuinely interested.

Dudley thought about it for a while. Harry was beginning to think he wasn't going to answer, when he suddenly replied.

"I guess I sort of… I don't know…respect you for being able to do that to Dad. And take a blow like that to the head and not flinch. I couldn't. And what's that about that guy you have to kill?"

With a sigh, Harry gave a very brief, played down description of his task. Dudley was still wide-eyed when he finished. By this time, they had both finished their breakfast. Harry got up, and took his plate over to the sink.

"Just so you know," said Dudley from the table, "this still doesn't mean I like you. And if you tell my parents I talked to you like this I will personally shove that wand of yours up your arse."

Harry couldn't help it. He just burst out in laughter. The past three weeks had been so bloody depressing that this was just too much. Dudley was looking at him like he'd lost his mind.

It was at this moment that Harry heard the doorbell ring. Professor McGonagall was here.

"A toad, Potter?" asked McGonagall with a smile as Harry opened the door. "Surely you could be more imaginative than that?"

"Sorry, Professor, but it just seemed so perfect. I couldn't help myself!"

"You know, I should be angry with you," said McGonagall, sounding not the least bit angry. "Though it is quite a difficult piece of magic for one as young as you. May I enquire as to whom it was used upon?"

"My uncle. We had a bit of a fight." It was as he said this that his professor noticed the large bruise that had risen on the left side of his face, where his uncle had hit him.

"Merlin, so you did!" exclaimed McGonagall, suddenly angry. "I would have done a lot worse than a toad for that, had I been in your place."

The two went inside. Harry was just going to put some shoes on, as at that point he had bare feet, and he also wanted to lock his room again. McGonagall asked him to bring down his aunt and uncle. She wanted a word with them. Harry was, needless to say, a little apprehensive. He didn't think they would take kindly to him barging into their room and asking them to get up, and he was right.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!" yelled Harry's uncle. "Who do you bloody well think you are?!"

Harry didn't flinch, something he felt strangely proud of. Instead, he said, "It's just that my Transfiguration teacher is downstairs, and she wants a word about the bruise you left on my head last night. She is much more imaginative when it comes to magic than me, by the way. I'm sure she knows you're awake, after you yelling at me like that. But if you want to insult her and not speak with her, be my guest."

With that, Harry came back down, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Sure enough, Vernon Dursley shuffled into the living room not long after, and sat himself on the same couch that he had sat on last year, when Dumbledore spoke with him. This brought a sudden wave of sadness crashing down on Harry. Meanwhile, Petunia came in and offered them all a cup of coffee. Nobody accepted. Dudley even waddled in and sat himself on the couch, not entirely sure what this was all about. After introductions were made, McGonagall started speaking.

"It has come to my attention that you struck Harry last night. Quite firmly, if that bruise is anything to judge by." At this Vernon snorted. He found Professor McGonagall a far less imposing figure than Professor Dumbledore, though he still looked uncomfortable. Dudley was a little more relaxed.

"Now, normally I would look down upon the use of underage magic, particularly on a Muggle such as yourself. Especially since I am now Headmistress of Harry's school."

"Wait, what?" interrupted Vernon, confused. "I thought that old codger, Dumblydoor or something, I thought he was the Headmaster."

"He was up until a few days before the end of term," replied McGonagall, carefully controlling the emotion welling up inside her. "He passed away. As I'm sure you are aware, judging by the fact that he came to personally collect him last summer, he was quite close to Harry. Not only this, but Harry witnessed his death. Needless to say, your nephew has been quite shaken by this, or could you not tell?"

"They've been away for the last few weeks," said Harry distractedly. He was still thinking about Dumbledore.

"Excuse me, but what does this have to do with anything?" This was Petunia.

"Well, as I was saying, I would normally look down on behaviour similar to Harry's. However, I think given the circumstances, the way you have treated him in the past, and the simple fact that you would choose to strike him lead me to believe that if I were in his position, I would have done much more. The way you have treated Harry in the past has been truly appalling. I am aware that Professor Dumbledore had a similar conversation to this with you last year, but I would not feel like I have fulfilled my duty as Headmistress, former Housemaster and most importantly, friend, if I did not repeat his sentiments. However, what is done is done. You need only put up with Harry's presence two more weeks. After that, whatever you do is nobody's business but your own. Until then, if I get word that you have mistreated Harry again, you'll have to worry about a lot worse than being transfigured into a toad."

"Is that some kind of threat?" asked Vernon furiously.

"My, my! You are a sharp one, Mr Dursley," replied McGonagall coldly. Harry was quite sure this was the first sarcastic comment he'd ever heard his old Transfiguration teacher make. "Good day."

With that, Harry and McGonagall got up and left, leaving a stunned silence in the living room of Number 4, Privet Drive.

Harry and McGonagall would be apparating to Headquarters. Harry was forced to use side-along apparition, since he had not been old enough to take the test the year before. He took hold of Professor McGonagall's arm, and the next thing he knew, he was in a back alley, shaking off the effects of the violently sudden journey.

"The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is at Number 12, Grimmauld Place," said McGonagall quietly. "I'm the new Secret Keeper. I have to tell that to everybody. That's the way the Fidelius Charm works. Otherwise you wouldn't be able to see it. You didn't remember the address before I told you, did you?"

Harry thought about it for a moment, and realised he hadn't. Without him noticing, the actual location of Headquarters had somehow slipped his mind since Dumbledore's death.

They walked out onto the street, and walked the short distance to the house. Harry still had to keep reminding himself it was his. In his mind it would always be Sirius'.

As they stepped inside, Harry asked McGonagall what to expect. He was becoming quite nervous.

"Well," started the Professor, not entirely sure what to say, "It is almost exactly like talking to the real Albus. At first it is, but the more you talk, the more you realise it isn't quite the same. There is something intrinsic that is missing. But the portrait has all the knowledge, if not wisdom, of Albus, at the point the portrait was made, which was just before the two of you left the school."

Harry looked at her in confusion. They had stopped just inside the hallway.

"The portrait was made _before_ he was…before we got back?"

"Why, yes," said McGonagall, seemingly surprised Harry didn't know this. "The portraits are made with a spell, or rather, many spells, that can only be used on a living being. Many Headmasters, especially as they get old, constantly get updated portraits of themselves, to ensure the portrait is as close to their own personality as possible when they die. Of course, when Headmasters resign, they can have their portrait done on their last day."

McGonagall seemed to be rambling a little. They had started walking down the hall. She seemed nervous and emotional, just like Harry felt. Unbeknownst to Harry, she was remembering that she knew Dumbledore had died deliberately. She wasn't sure how Harry would react to this news, should Dumbledore choose to tell him. Harry just looked at her strangely.

Harry followed his old Transfiguration teacher into the drawing room. There sat Dumbledore, cleaning his glasses, humming to himself contentedly. It would almost have been as if he had never died, except for the fact that he was suspended within a small frame on the wall. Nevertheless, portrait-Dumbledore looked up and smiled as Harry and Professor McGonagall entered the room.

"Ah, I'm glad to see you two made it," said Dumbledore's portrait merrily.

Harry and McGonagall each took a seat in front of the portrait. Harry was too emotional to speak at that moment. McGonagall, however, had spoken to Dumbledore several times, and was far more accustomed to this unusual experience.

"How are you, Albus?" asked McGonagall.

"Oh, quite well, I suppose," said the portrait conversationally, "I can't really get sick, being a portrait, but times have been dull recently. With this house mostly abandoned for the last couple of weeks, and it being holidays at Hogwarts, there is not much to do. Remind me to ask someone to get me a portrait at the ministry, Minerva. From what I can gather, things are getting quite interesting there these days."

"You wouldn't be wrong there, Albus," replied McGonagall smiling. Harry was beginning to relax, though it still made him tremendously sad to be reminded of Dumbledore's death. Sure, he could talk to this portrait almost as often as he wanted, but it didn't take away his sense of vulnerability and loss that Dumbledore's absence left. Eventually he found his voice.

"Sir, what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Well, first of all, I just wanted to make sure you were handling yourself OK. I understand you have had Ron and Hermione over many times this summer. I think that was a good idea."

"They helped a lot," Harry said simply, and sadly.

"I also understand that you ended your relationship with Miss Weasley," Dumbledore continued.

"You're well informed," Harry said stiffly, annoyed that Dumbledore, or his portrait at least, knew so much about his personal life. Dumbledore continued, though with a slightly apologetic tone to his voice.

"I assume you thought she would be in danger, being in such a close relationship with you." It wasn't a question.

"Well, she would be, wouldn't she?" said Harry, now starting to feel so many mixed emotions it was beginning to make him feel dizzy. Sadness that Dumbledore was dead, happiness that he could still talk to him, or something like him, something like love for Ginny, regret that he couldn't have her, and annoyance at Dumbledore's know-it-all, but Harry had to admit, characteristic and well justified attitude.

"Yes, she would. It is perhaps in both yours and Miss Weasley's best interests that you remain simply friends for the time being."

This surprised Harry, as he was expecting Dumbledore, emphasising the power of love and companionship, to encourage him to renew his relationship with Ginny. _Or hoping, perhaps_, a rather insightful voice in the back of Harry's mind said.

"I see you are surprised by my attitude," said Dumbledore, smiling. "I think you and Ginny are old enough to make that sort of decision without my input."

Harry had the feeling that this was all small talk, and the real reason for Harry's visit was yet to be revealed. Sure enough, after a few minutes of chatting, Dumbledore asked McGonagall, as politely as possible, if she would give Harry and him some time in private. McGonagall left, suspecting that this would be about, or related to, the trip Dumbledore and Harry had taken before that terrible night. She was not wrong.

"Now, Harry. As I was made, or recorded, however you wish to think of it, before we took our trip to the cave, I would very much like to know how it went."

Harry was surprised at this. He had naturally assumed that by this stage Dumbledore would know, but of course, the only other person who knew where they had gone was Harry himself, discounting Ron and Hermione, who he knew for a fact had not yet spoken with Dumbledore's portrait.

"We, um, got to the cave," stuttered Harry, not enjoying having to relive the terrible ordeal. "There was a lake, but you had to spill some blood on a rock to get to it." At this, Dumbledore's portrait nodded. "The horcrux was Salazar Slytherin's locket, by the way. It was in a bowl in the middle of the lake. We paddled across to it in a little boat. We had to, uh, you had to drink this green stuff, until it was all gone. The horcrux was in the bowl, and you couldn't get to it while the green stuff was in there. You made me force it down your throat. You didn't want it but you told me to keep giving it to you. It made you all weak." By this stage Harry was on the verge of tears and his voice was terribly quiet.

"Well, we got it in the end," continued Harry, gathering himself. Portrait-Dumbledore gave a sigh of relief. Harry was not looking forward to revealing that it wasn't the real horcrux. "Then we fought some Inferi. We made it out, obviously."

Dumbledore's portrait was quiet. He could tell that something had gone wrong. Apart from his death, that is. Sensing this, Harry continued.

"It wasn't the right one. It wasn't real. Someone had come and taken it." He paused for a few seconds, once again gathering himself. "We landed on the Astronomy Tower, and Malfoy came up. Draco, that is. You put me in a body-bind, with my Invisibility Cloak on. He was meant to kill you, but he hesitated. Then Snape came up. Snape killed you."

By this stage, Harry was barely keeping himself from shouting. He was grinding the words through his teeth, while tears trickled from his eyes.

"Why didn't you let me help?" Harry half-whimpered, half-moaned.

"You know perfectly well why," said the portrait, in a calming but stern voice. "If I'd let you help we would both be dead, and Voldemort would already have control."

Harry forced himself to calm down. This was an argument he'd had with himself many times since his Headmaster's death. It never led anywhere.

"Anyway, after a while, I noticed the locket was smaller than the one we'd seen in the memory. It wasn't the real one. Someone named R.A.B. had come and found it, and by the looks of it, destroyed it."

Harry read the note he had found in the locket to Dumbledore's portrait. He'd taken to carrying it around with him, in case he found a possible R.A.B., and needed to refer to it.

"My, my," said the portrait, having heard the message. "Tell me, Harry, have you any idea who this R.A.B. might be?"

"No idea, sir," replied Harry. "Ron, Hermione and I researched the initials in the library, but didn't find anything that fitted."

"Have you tried that tapestry hanging on the wall opposite me?"

Harry turned around quickly, wondering what the hell Dumbledore was talking about. Then he saw it: the Black family tapestry. R.A.B. Could the "B" stand for Black?

"It is just a hunch, mind you, but I believe your R.A.B. is one Regulus Arcturus Black."

"Sirius' brother, you mean? The Death Eater who left them?"

"Yes, quite. It would explain why he left them so suddenly."

Harry thought about it for a while. He could see no immediate problems with the theory. Although he doubted he could, given that it was Dumbledore's (_his portrait's! _Harry thought to himself stubbornly) theory to begin with.

They discussed possible reasons for this possible series of events. Professor McGonagall was right, Harry realised suddenly. This wasn't like talking to Dumbledore for real. It was similar, yes, but it wasn't quite right. Something was missing, and Harry could not put his finger on it.

Eventually, somehow, talk turned to Harry's upcoming birthday, and what he was hoping to get.

"I don't know," said Harry, a little uncomfortably. "I guess some defensive gear would be useful. Maybe some books about combating dark magic. Anything that will help me survive for however long it takes to get rid of Voldemort will be great, I guess."

Dumbledore's portrait looked down at Harry with sadness. This was going to be his seventeenth birthday, and all he wanted was to survive until his eighteenth. Then, he guessed, he would want to survive until his nineteenth, and from there, his twentieth. Had the portrait been able to feel genuine emotion, he would have felt a tremendous longing to protect this boy, and help him through this. As it was, he just mimicked the movements the real Dumbledore would have made had he still been alive.

"Well, it so happens that I, or the real me, in any case, organised for you to receive a gift from me, but only on your birthday."

"Thank you," said Harry gratefully. Then it struck him as odd what Dumbledore had said.

"What do you mean, "organised"?" he asked with confusion. "It sounds as though you knew you wouldn't be here."

"Oh, there was a meeting of the Wizengamot, and it fell right on your birthday," the portrait lied smoothly. "It was unavoidable, really. I was hoping I wouldn't have to go. I guess I hoped a little too hard."

Harry accepted Dumbledore's explanation, though he thought it a bit odd.

"Harry, there is still a matter which I wish to discuss with you. It is about my will."

Harry froze. This was not something he wanted to discuss, but by the look on the portrait's face he knew he had no choice.

"My will has not yet been found. For the time being my entire estate is being held by the goblins. I will tell Professor McGonagall where it has been hidden, but first I want to tell you what I have left you."

Harry sat in silence. He was honoured that Dumbledore would feel any desire to leave him anything, but at the same time didn't want a thing from him. He had no need for any more money.

"Harry, I have left you my personal library, of which few people know and fewer have seen. I have also left you my pensieve, and all the memories I own. You also have one of my properties in the Netherlands, and three hundred thousand Galleons, though these are being held in a trust account until the fall of Voldemort. I figured you would have little time to indulge in these until after you defeat Tom."

"Th-Thank you sir," stammered Harry. "That's very generous."

" Nonsense. You need the pensieve and library, and you deserve the house and money. Anyway, I have also left a great deal to my many, many nephews and nieces of various generations. As you can probably guess, when I died, I died exceedingly wealthy. Just one of the legacies of living to 157."

"Sir, I was wondering," asked Harry after a while. "It hasn't really been mentioned, but will Hogwarts be closing down next year?"

"Ah, seeing as I am but a portrait, and a portrait of a man who is no longer head of the school, I am quite the wrong person to ask. Though I suspect Minerva plans to keep the school open, from what she has told me. Whether the trustees agree, we will have to wait and see.

"Now I believe you are welcome to visit the Weasleys for lunch at the Burrow today. I had a talk with Molly yesterday, before the wedding. She popped in here to find something; a tiara, that's what it was. She'd left it here by accident, and came to pick it up. I think it was for Miss Delacour, or should I now say, the young Mrs Weasley. Anyway, when I mentioned I would be speaking with you she offered to have you over for lunch."

"That sounds good," said Harry, feeling as though he could do with some friendly company after this rather emotional conversation.

"And Harry, I think the plan is for you to come and live here after you turn seventeen. That would be very handy, since I would like to still be in contact with you after your birthday."

"I think that sounds fine," said Harry, happy to be able to talk with Dumbledore's portrait, though a bit annoyed that this plan had been made without his input.

"Of course, if you are not comfortable," said the portrait, seemingly reading his mind, "you can refuse. The choice is yours entirely, seeing as you will be seventeen and this is your house."

"Well, I don't have anywhere else to live, so it'll do, I guess."

After a few talking for a further few minutes, Harry got up and walked to the fireplace. He was going to travel to the Burrow by the Floo system. Before simply barging in, however, he sprinkled the powder in the fire, and stuck his head in.

"Harry!" exclaimed Mrs Weasley, seeing him in the fire.

"Hello, Mrs Weasley," said Harry smiling. "According to Dumbldore's portrait you've invited m-"

"Yes, yes, of course," interrupted Mrs Weasly. "Come on over. Lunch will be ready in an hour. Ron and Hermione are here, of course."

"Thanks, Mrs Weasley," said Harry withdrawing his head, before stepping into the fireplace. "The Burrow!" he yelled.


	5. Chapter 5

The next two weeks dragged by painfully slowly for Harry. Ron and Hermione visited when they could, but even Professor McGonagall's threats couldn't convince Uncle Vernon to keep a lid on his temper. While he never came close to striking Harry again, the tension while his friends visited was palpable, and this put somewhat of a dampener on their visits. Harry also stayed at the Burrow every now and then, but the anger of Ginny, on top of the nagging worry that he might not be upholding his end of the blood protection deal, meant he didn't like to stay there too often either. So, he spent a good chunk of his time alone.

After what seemed like an eternity, Harry's 17th birthday had arrived. Plans had been made to transport Harry to the Burrow. Because the wards protecting the Dursleys' house would disappear once he had turned 17, it was imperative that he leave without being seen. Not trusting the Ministry to allow the Dursleys' fireplace to be temporarily connected to the Floo network, they had decided to sneak Harry out the back of the house under cover of the Invisibility Cloak. Arthur and Bill Weasley, Remus, Tonks, McGonagall, Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt would be Apparating into the clearing behind the house, under cover of a disillusionment charm, aside from Remus, who would be dressed as a Muggle so that Harry would know where to find them. Harry would meet them under the Invisibility Cloak, and they would then Apparate to the Burrow. Moody had insisted every precaution be taken, given that Snape had known the address of Privet Drive, and knew that they would be trying to transport Harry on his 17th birthday.

With all his bags packed, Harry magically shrunk them, and grabbed his Cloak. He'd said his goodbyes to the Dursleys earlier, which was as awkward as he'd expected. Vernon had grunted, and Petunia had merely pursed her lips and nodded. Dudley had remained stubbornly unresponsive. Now, however, Harry looked back up the stairs and saw Dudley watching him at the top of the stairs.

Harry's cousin seemed to be struggling to say something, and Harry took pity on him by starting him off.

"Come to say goodbye, then?" he asked.

"Err, something like that," replied Dudley nervously, casting a glance at his parents' bedroom door.

"Well, I'm right here. I'm kind of in a hurry, so make it quick." Harry was half-annoyed his departure from this hell-hole was being delayed, but also half-amused at Dudley's embarrassment.

"Well, er, goodbye, I guess. I guess I probably won't see you again, eh?"

"No, probably not," replied Harry honestly.

"Well, OK, good. Goodnight, I guess."

"Night, Dudley," said Harry, turning away to hide his smile. _I guess Dudley _would_ miss having his younger cousin to torment,_ he thought.

He walked down, turning into the kitchen and exiting the back door. He checked his watch. 12:04. _Happy Birthday,_ he thought to himself. He was meant to meet Remus at exactly 12 though, so he hurried. He crossed the small backyard quickly, and tossed the Invisibility Cloak over his head. Scaling the fence quickly, he jumped down, and saw a man sitting on some swings in a playground. The same playground, in fact, in which he and Dudley had encountered the Dementors two years ago. Guessing it was Remus, he headed towards it.

The playground was about two hundred metres away. He walked quickly across, nervously shifting his eyes. He looked back over his shoulder, and through the gap between the Dursleys' house and the house next door, he saw a group of four or five men, dressed in muggle clothing, but all with one hand in their pockets, seemingly gripping something. And he wasn't sure, since they were quite a way away, but he thought he could make out the Dark Mark on the inside of one of the men's arms. He turned back, shuddering, and kept walking.

When he was about half-way there he was able to recognise the man sitting on the swings as Remus. Relieved, he quickened his pace further.

The playground was surrounded by a fence, and a gap in the fence served as a gate. When he reached it, he noticed some human shape blurs, and guessed that they were the rest of the party, but he was unable to distinguish who was who.

He decided to play a prank on Remus. Being as quiet as possible, Harry snuck behind his old Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. He was just about to grab him from behind and yell "Boo!" when, in a flash, Remus drew his wand, pointed it over his shoulder and cast a full body-bind curse on Harry.

"Harry, Harry, Harry, don't ever try to prank a prankster," said Remus, grinning. There was muffled laughter and a thump, and Harry guessed that Tonks had probably stubbed her toe.

"Geez, Remus, you scared the shit out of me!" said Harry as he was released from the body bind. "How'd you know I was there?"

"Firstly, mind your language," replied Remus, though there was laughter in his voice. "Secondly, your feet made imprints in the grass. Also, being a werewolf, I happen to have a superior sense of hearing and smell. I knew exactly where you were from the moment you entered the playground."

"I did too," laughed Bill from the shadows, "but I thought I'd leave you to Remus." Bill had developed some interesting side-effects from his brush with Fenrir Greyback, not least a heightened sense of smell, hearing, and a rather sudden love of rare steaks.

"Thirdly, Happy Birthday," finished Remus, smiling. This was followed by a quiet but heartfelt chorus of happy birthdays from the not-quite-unseen others.

"Thanks," said Harry as he lifted himself up. "And sorry, Remus. I couldn't resist having a go, though!"

"Ah, you wouldn't be the son of a Marauder if you hadn't tried, Harry. Besides, I'm the one who got you in the end, so it's even."

"Alright, enough of that," came Moody's disembodied voice. "It's time to go. There are Death Eaters around, and some are looking right at us. As far as they're concerned Remus is just a Muggle sitting here alone, but if we don't hurry they'll get impatient and come check it out. Harry, you won't be able to Apparate with that cloak on, so I'm going to reach under and cast a Disillusionment charm on you. You'd do best to learn this one for yourself sometime too."

Harry felt Moody's wand touch his leg, and he felt the Disillusionment charm spread from the point he had been touched, across his body. When the charm was complete, he removed his Invisibility cloak and stuffed it in his coat pocket.

"All set, Harry?" asked Remus. Harry whispered his reply, Remus grabbed his arm, and with a series of cracks, the party was on its way to the Burrow. Just before he felt that familiar squeezing sensation, however, he noticed a single black figure appear about twenty metres in front of him. Even though he felt he was being pulled through a long, tight tube, nothing could make him forget that face.


	6. Chapter 6

"SNAPE!" yelled Harry, as soon as he'd recovered from the Apparition. "That slimy, no-good, backstabbing son-of-a-bitch!"

"Calm down, Harry, it's alright," said Remus, placing a placating hand on Harry's shoulder.

"It's NOT alright!" Harry hissed, spinning around with wand drawn, as if checking to see if Snape had followed them. "That bastard is still out there, while Dumbledore's DEAD!"

Harry sunk to his knees, his anger overcome by sadness. He stayed like that for a while, controlling himself, while the rest of the party started removing their Disillusionment charms. Professor McGonagall came over to Harry and removed his charm, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, before moving away to stand off to the side uncomfortably, she being the only one who knew where Snape's loyalties truly lay.

Soon, Tonks broke the silence.

"So, uh, I take it you saw Snape?" she said to Harry with uncertainty, feeling emotional after the outburst herself.

"He was right there in front of us as we Apparated away," Remus answered, as Harry didn't seem to hear.

"He apparated just outside the fence, just as we were all leaving," Moody added. "I saw him too," he explained as Remus looked at him with confusion, gesturing to his magical eye.

"I saw him too," added Kingsley. "I guess he was checking to see who Remus was and what he was doing."

At this point, Molly, Ron and Hermione all rushed out.

"We heard yelling," explained Hermione breathlessly. "What happened?"

"Snape happened," said Harry darkly. "He was there in the park. I saw him."

At this Ron scowled, and Hermione looked worried.

"Was anybody hurt?"

"He got there just as we were Apparating away," Remus answered. "Nobody was hurt."

"Oh, good," said Hermione, relieved. She stopped for a moment, as if trying to remember something. Suddenly, it clicked, and she threw herself at Harry.

"Happy Birthday, Harry!" she yelled. "You're finally seventeen!" Harry had no choice but to hug back, and as it happened this helped to lift his mood a little. Soon, however, Ron prised her off him, and Harry couldn't help but give him a grateful smile.

"Happy Birthday mate," said Ron, punching his friend on the arm. It seemed this was as long as Mrs Weasley could hold herself back, because it was at that moment that she swept Harry up in a bone-crushing hug, wishing him a happy birthday and thanking Merlin he was safe.

"Now, that's enough excitement for the night," Mrs Weasley said as she released Harry. "Off to bed with the lot of you. I want you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow morning."

Amid several muttered complaints from Ron about how they were all 17 now, they trod off to bed. Harry dumped his things under a second bed in Ron's room, before flopping down. Truth be told, Harry was exhausted, and could only stay up a few minutes chatting to Ron before sleep overtook him.

* * *

The next day, Harry woke up to find Ron's bed empty. Putting on his glasses, he glanced at Ron's clock, and found that it was already 10 in the morning. Smelling the scent of pancakes and bacon rising from the kitchen below, he immediately got dressed and hurried down.

He was greeted by a chorus of Happy Birthdays from a very crowded Weasley kitchen. It seemed that it wasn't just the Weasleys who were celebrating Harry's birthday. Everybody who'd accompanied him last night had returned, as well as many others, including Hagrid, who immediately wrapped Harry up in a hug even stronger than Mrs Weasley's, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and, to his slight annoyance, Professor Slughorn, who beamed at Harry when he managed to catch Harry's eye. Fleur was there with Bill, and Gabrielle had decided she wanted to stay in Britain for a while longer, until Bill and Fleur left on their honeymoon, so she was included in the celebrations.

Harry was stunned. He knew the Weasleys wouldn't be able to resist throwing him a celebration, and Ron had told him as much, but he wasn't expecting such a large turnout. He moved around the room, thanking everybody for coming as they congratulated him. When he got to Ginny, things became awkward. She simply muttered "Happy Birthday" before backing away and letting somebody else congratulate him.

Soon, everybody took a seat outside for a huge birthday breakfast, courtesy of Mrs Weasley. She had prepared pancakes, bacon, sausages, eggs, fried tomatoes, fresh fruit, fruit tarts, freshly squeezed pumpkin and fruit juices, and loads more. Ron, as was his tendency, piled mountain upon mountain of food onto his plate, eating is almost as quickly as he piled it. Harry couldn't help but laugh at Hermione's look of fond disgust as Ron picked up a sausage, wrapped it in bacon, and shoved it in his mouth, while Fred and George egged him on.

Eventually, everybody had eaten their fill. It was at this point that, to Harry's immense embarrassment, Mrs Weasley announced it was present time. She and Hermione grabbed a protesting Harry and firmly dragged him inside to the living room, setting him on the couch and sitting either side of him, while the rest of the party trailed in behind them, laughing at Harry's obvious embarrassment.

Harry worked through the mountain of presents as quickly as he could without seeming rude, but he really wasn't enjoying all the attention being centred on him. He tried at least to make each present about the person who gave it to him, rather than himself, but still, this was the equivalent of torture for the shy teen. From Kingsley, he received a trunk similar to the trunk belonging to Moody which Harry had had personal experience with in his fourth year. Like Moody's, it had seven compartments, one of which was the size of a small room. From Moody, he received a set of two leather straps and a belt, worn in the style of military webbing, with a strap worn diagonally across each shoulder, crossing at his sternum and running straight down the back. It came complete with nine separate, attachable leather compartments of varying sizes, and a wand holster ("to stop you losing a buttock when you put your damn wand in your back pocket," Moody had explained gruffly). From Bill and Fleur he received a pair of soft, pale, pearl-coloured dragon hide gloves, which Fleur had handmade from some dragon hide Bill had bought from Charlie. This same hide, albeit from a different part of the dragon, had also produced a pair of dragon hide boots that Charlie had given him. Charlie explained that when a dragon was killed on the dragon reservation where he worked (which despite their best efforts, did happen very occasionally, given the inherent aggressiveness of most dragons), the senior members of staff there (a member of which Charlie was now considered, having worked there for 7 years) got a share in the dragon hide, blood and organs, and any other useful parts, before the reservation sold the rest. Charlie had taken the hide to a well known Romanian bootmaker, and personal friend of Charlie's, and had the boots made. They came almost up to his knee, and Harry found, as he tried them on, that they were supremely comfortable, and fit his feet perfectly, much to Charlie's relief. The boots were a very different colour from the gloves, and were dark green, purple and gold. The gloves had come from the soft underbelly of the dragon, which happened to be an Antipodean Opaleye, and the boots had come from the tougher hide on the back.

Harry was overwhelmed by the sheer number of gifts he was receiving, and the generosity behind them. He guessed that many of them would be worth a fortune, and he felt honoured that so many people would be willing to spend so much time and/or money on him. And he hadn't even finished opening them all yet!

Horace Slughorn had given him box filled with lots of rare potions ingredients, for his "star pupil". It included powdered graphorn horn, which Hagrid had given the potions Professor, as he'd known how useful it was in potions. There was also an assortment of dragon materials, no doubt bought from Charlie, including some powdered dragon horn, dragon liver and heart, kept fresh with an enchantment, and a very generous phial of dragon blood. Harry also spotted some fluxweed, which Slughorn assured Harry had been picked at full moon, powdered bicorn horn, and boomslang skin, which Hermione later noted are the rarest ingredients of Polyjuice potion. A rather large phial of acromantula venom was also provided, and Harry had a sneaking suspicion it had come from Aragog. Harry was somewhat put-off by the generosity of Slughorn, who when it came down to it really didn't know Harry all that well, and who Harry had never particularly taken to, although the intention behind this generosity became clear when Slughorn returned Harry's "thank you" with a "just remember me when you get to the top, eh?"

McGonagall had, quite predictably, given Harry a book, albeit a very large, and very advanced book, focusing on transfiguration, charms, and practical spells. Remus and Tonks had gotten Harry a present together, and as neither of them was particularly well-off financially speaking, they had decided to give Harry something that had more symbolic value than financial. Their gift was a small marble pendant, fashioned to resemble a full moon. The chain was in fact a thin rope comprised of intertwined lengths of Tonks' hair, varying in colour with red, blue, yellow, orange, green, black and purple. This had been coated in some sort of potion, which ensured strength and produced a sleek outer film on the rope, so that the friction with the skin was almost non-existent.

"This is so that you'll always know we're here for you, Harry," Remus explained, as he gently passed the rope over Harry's head. "You're a wonderful person, and we want you to know that the loyalty of your friends here is proof of that." And with that comment, he gestured to the entire room, to murmurs of agreement. With that, Remus and Tonks took Harry in a tight embrace, and Harry struggled not to cry as he was supported by his last living link to his parents, and the Auror who was always there to lend a laugh and a wink when times got tough.

From Neville, Harry received a mimbulus mimbletonia potted plant. Luna had given Harry some sort of amulet, which she claimed was a lucky charm, and was designed to protect the holder. Although Harry didn't believe in it for a second, he knew Luna did, and he was touched. From Fred and George, he got a very large supply of WWW products, as well as a significant portion of shares in the company, which Fred and George justified by pointing out that the store wouldn't be up and running if it wasn't for Harry's Triwizard earnings, which he'd donated to them after fourth year. Harry, somewhat reluctant, but grateful all the same, accepted, and with an overly ceremonious flourish from the Weasley twins, the relevant documents were signed. Ginny, still obviously angry at Harry, had given him a pack of Puking Pastilles, and Ron had a hard time hiding a snigger as Harry cast a nervous glance Ginny's way. Ron and Hermione had only given him fairly small gifts, as their budgets had been low. Ron had given him a subscription to a popular Quidditch magazine, and Hermione had given him a magical diary which conveniently compiled references to his entries into an index at the front, as he wrote in it. The trio knew that Ron and Hermione's real presents were their help, support, presence, and most importantly of all, friendship, as Harry sought out the Horcruxes, but Harry was touched by the gifts all the same.

His next present was from Hagrid. He was a little bit nervous as he picked it up, knowing Hagrid's penchant for the dangerous, but he found the bulky package quite light and flexible as he held it, and guessed it must be some other item of clothing.

"It's from me and Grawpy," explained Hagrid as Harry tore open the wrapping. Held within was a long-sleeved, greyish-purple garment, made of some half-inch thick, leathery but very light-weight material. "It's graphorn hide." As he said this, Professor McGonagall gasped and looked at Hagrid in shock, and Kingsley shot Hagrid a look of deep respect. "Grawpy and I was visiting the giants in the mountains over summer. The two of us, an' an old friend of his, caught this graphorn that'd been causing a nearby village some trouble. Not that giants usually care about protectin' us humans, but I convinced Grawpy's friend to help us. We brought it down, gave the horn to Horace seein's how valuable it is and all (_So that's where the powdered graphorn horn came from,_ thought Harry), and I made yeh that with some of the hide. Kept the rest for me own uses, o' course," he said with a cheeky grin.

"Graphorns are very dangerous, Hagrid," said Kingsley, clearly impressed. "I take it you're alright then?"

"Yeh, a graphorn's no match for two and a half giants," he said with an embarrassed chuckle. "Anyway, graphorn hide is real tough, and resists magic like yeh wouldn't believe. Better than dragon hide, even! It'll protect yeh against most spells if you wear it under your shirt, except the Killing Curse o' course. It won' be much use against the likes o' You-Know-Who, mind, but it should stand up to anything your typical Death Eater might throw at you."

"Wow, Hagrid, thanks! It's great! Tell Grawp I said thanks as well," said Harry, fondly remembering the friendly, if not gentle, giant.

"It's a little bit stiff still," said Hagrid apologetically. "I worked the hide mehself, but it's hard work, and I couldn't quite get it fully soft in time, but if yeh wear it in it'll get there eventually. It's also mighty comfortable. I don' know what it is, but it hardly traps heat at all. O' course, that aint so great when it's cold, but yeh can always chuck on some more clothes when yeh need 'em"

"I'll wear it whenever I go out, Hagrid," Harry promised, which brought a tremendously happy smile to Hagrid's face.

Finally, it got to Mr and Mrs Weasley. He opened his present from Arthur first. He pulled from the brown wrapping paper a long, hooded travelling coat of a very hard to place colour. Harry's eyes couldn't really decide which colour it was. It wasn't black, white or grey, but it wasn't any particular colour either. Harry eventually started thinking of it as an off-grey (whatever that was).

"That coat will help hide, or I suppose camouflage you," explained Arthur. "Of course, it's no Invisibility Cloak, but it does a lot to deflect attention away from the wearer. It won't hide you from anybody that's actually looking for you, but I reckon you could walk down Diagon Alley with it and you wouldn't get noticed. It's great when you need to interact normally with certain people without standing out to others, something difficult to do when ducking in and out of your Cloak, I'd imagine. It's been in the Weasley family for years, but none of us have ever had a use for it. I had the feeling you'd need all the help you can get avoiding attention."

"Thanks, Mr Weasley," said Harry, appreciating how Arthur understood his need for privacy, not just for safety, but for his own sanity. "I dare say I'll get a good bit of use out of it before long," he commented, only half-jokingly.

To finish things off, Mrs Weasley handed Harry her present to him. He opened it to find a red, hand-knitted jumper, with a small gold H in the top-left corner. However, as he lifted up the jumper, two much smaller, heavier items dropped into his lap. He picked up the first one, which was a long, flat, slender length of gold, about the size of Harry's wand, with a hoop at one end and his name on the other. With a confused glance at Ron, who merely smiled mysteriously, and Mrs Weasley, who looked worried he might not like it, he simply smiled back, trying to figure out what it was. He realised when he looked at the other object that had fallen out. A wristwatch, with a light leather band, but it wasn't any normal watch. His eyes began to tear up as he noticed the eight hands, each with a different Weasley's initials (except for Percy). Every hand was pointed to mortal peril, just like the grandfather clock just outside in the kitchen. Picking up the gold rod with his name on it, he realised that this was his own hand for that very clock. Brushing away tears, he turned and gave Mrs Weasley a huge hug. The Weasleys had always been his family. This gesture simply proved it.

"Thank you, Mrs Weasley," he breathed into her shoulder. Extracting himself from her embrace, he said, "Thanks, all of you. Really, this is… amazing."

Harry's eyes caught Ginny's, and the expression he saw on her face was unplacable. He held her gaze for a few moments, before she turned away. _Damn, _he thought, _I really need to sort this out._

"Wow," Harry said to the room at large, looking over all his gifts. "I don't really know what to say except thanks. They're all fantastic. And I think I'll be able to put a lot of them to good use against Voldemort."

There was a somewhat sombre mood within the room as Harry said this, as everybody took in just how many of the gifts Harry had received were given in order to help him fight, or at least, survive. Harry had always known that's all he wanted. He had said as much when speaking with Dumbledore's portrait, but it wasn't until now that the true burden that lay on Harry's shoulders was sinking in with his friends.

Before too long, the sombre mood was broken as a voice many of those in the room had not heard for a long while, and had not expected to hear again, broke in.

"Molly, I hate to butt in, but I believe Harry has one more gift you forgot to give him," said the voice of Dumbledore, from a pocket-sized portrait on the mantelpiece.

"Oh, Dumbledore, I'm sorry! I forgot. Since you weren't wrapped, and all," she explained quickly, before grabbing the small frame.

"Here, Harry," Mrs Weasley said, handing the frame to Harry. "He insisted we didn't wrap him, since he wanted to see what presents you got."

Harry simply stared as Dumbledore's face smiled back at him.

"Now, Harry, you can chat to me any time you like, no matter where you are, so long as you carry that with you. I won't be here all the time; I've had a portrait installed in the Ministry which I plan on spending a fair bit of time in, but if you ever need to chat, just call!"

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, dumbstruck. He couldn't believe he had his own talking portrait of Dumbledore to carry with him. Suddenly, he didn't feel so abandoned by his old Headmaster, and it lifted from Harry a weight he hadn't been aware he'd been carrying.

"I actually had another present arranged for you," explained Dumbledore's portrait apologetically, "but unfortunately it's not quite ready yet, so this will do in the meantime. I'll let you know as soon as it's done!"

"Don't worry Professor, it's brilliant, really," assured Harry. The portrait merely smiled mysteriously.

Finally, Mrs Weasley called them all to lunch. She'd had lunch cooking itself all the while, though she had had to duck out of the room every ten minutes or so to check on things. Several people had to excuse themselves at this point, including Kingsley and Tonks, who had Auror business, but aside from that, lunch was as grand an affair as breakfast. Eventually full to the brim, after quite a massive birthday cake in the shape of a Snitch, the celebrations began to wind down, and people began to leave. Only Remus and Hagrid were able to stay until dinner, and after that even they had to leave. The party, while fantastic, had been exhausting for Harry, and it was only 9 when he found himself trudging off to bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.


	7. Chapter 7

"Hmph. Well if I'd known you were going to still be asleep I would have stayed at the ministry."

This comment was met with a rather loud snore.

"Really, Harry, I don't think the wizarding public would be encouraged by their hero's lethargy."

Again, this comment was met with snores.

"OK, Harry, really, you need to get up, we have much to discuss."

When Harry refused to open his eyes, the tiny portrait of Dumbledore yelled as loudly as he could, "GET UP, GET UP, GET UP!!"

Finally, Harry began to stir, rubbing his eyes groggily and reaching for his glasses, before sitting up and groaning.

"Oh, hey Professor. Remind me to put you under my bed in future," said Harry, grumpy. It had been a week since his birthday, and he had moved into Grimmauld place, along with Ron and Hermione. They had spent the last week searching for the locket in the old house, but had had no luck. They now suspected it had been taken and sold by Mundungus Fletcher, which had frustrated them immensely. They planned on having a little chat with him about it today.

"Harry, I've just got word that my will has been processed," Dumbledore said, "and that my possessions and money are being distributed as we speak. The deed to the property and the money which I left you is already being put into a trust account, but you have to visit Gringotts to confirm all the details. Also, you have to pick up my Pensieve, and the memories I left you, which were moved to my vault shortly after my death, and have now been transferred to your vault. I recommend you do this today. Mundungus lives off Diagon Alley in any case, so you'll be able to stop by while you're there.

"My library has remained at Hogwarts, and as it is rather large I think that's probably where it should stay, at least for the time being. Moving it would take too long, and it's safest there."

After waking Ron, and finding Hermione already up and showered and making breakfast, they sat around the table, eating and discussing their plans for the day. Dumbledore had meanwhile returned to the Ministry, so it was just the three of them speaking.

"Well, why don't you sort out the will business, while we talk to Mundungus," suggested Hermione, gesturing to herself and Ron. Harry objected to this, not wanting to let his friends go off alone through Diagon Alley. Death Eater activity had become more and more open and regular since Dumbledore's death, and there had been several attacks on Diagon Alley in the past month. However, Hermione and Ron's argument that sticking together would take longer, and the longer they spent in Diagon Alley the more danger they would be in, eventually convinced him. Besides which, Mundungus lived a fair way off Diagon Alley, and so the two friends were quite safe.

Dumbledore had warned the trio that Voldemort most likely knew that the will had been processed, and that Harry had been left a considerable amount. As such, he knew Harry needed to go to Gringotts to confirm the details, and would most likely have Death Eaters stationed around Gringotts, waiting to jump Harry as soon as he showed his face. Dumbledore assured Harry that once he was inside Gringotts he would be safe from any external attacks, but just to make sure, Harry was going to try to get the entire business done under the cover of the Invisibility Cloak. Also, Dumbledore had advised Harry to do his business with Griphook, the goblin that had first taken Harry to his vault in Gringotts. He hadn't told Harry why, apart from saying that Griphook, unlike some other goblins, was sympathetic to their cause.

So it was that Harry found himself going out for the first time since his birthday. He put on his graphorn hide long-sleeved singlet, and as it was still unseasonably cold and foggy, pulled over it his new jumper, knitted by Mrs Weasley. He spent a fair bit of time trying to figure out how the leather strap and belt system given to him by Moody worked, but eventually figured it out. He attached the wand holster to the belt, and four of the nine compartments, two for his money pouch and diary on one strap, and the other two on the other strap for Dumbledore's portrait, and symmetry. Deciding to go all out with his birthday gifts, he donned the coat Mr Weasley had given him, leaving the hood down, and pulled on the dragon hide boots and gloves. As an afterthought, figuring he might as well take as much new birthday stuff as possible, he shoved the pack of Puking Pastilles Ginny had given him into the empty compartment he had. He smiled grimly, remembering that he still hadn't fixed things with Ginny. He kept procrastinating, not looking forward to eventually facing her. She had a temper, and Harry knew it.

Thinking he looked quite dashing, decked out in his new gear, he grabbed his Invisibility Cloak, and went to meet the his friends in the kitchen before they left. As he walked in, however, it was to find Ron and Hermione in each other's arms, snogging each other senseless. Harry stood frozen to the spot as his friends continued, unaware of Harry's presence, before Harry spun around and walked out, embarrassed but with a cheeky grin on his face. Harry had been pretty fortunate in regards to walking in on those two. It had only happened once before, which he was thankful for. This time, upon entering the kitchen, he knocked first, which gave his friends time to separate and straighten their clothes, before Harry walked in.

"Wow, Harry, uh, you look, erm, nice," stuttered Hermione, noticing what Harry was wearing while at the same time beet red, trying subtly to increase the uncomfortably small distance between herself and Ron.

"Uh, yeah mate, looks good," added Ron, ears so red Harry thought they might catch on fire. Harry merely grinned at his friends' embarrassment, and thanked them for the complements. Soon they were ready to leave.

As soon as they were out the front door, they apparated into one of the side alleys of Diagon Alley. Harry had Side-Along Apparated with Hermione, as he was not yet confident of pulling it off successfully. Ron had only recently grasped the skill, but had not received his license yet. Throwing on his Invisibility Cloak, Harry said goodbye to his friends, who were off to find Mundungus' address, while Harry set off towards Gringotts.

Thankfully for Harry, Diagon Alley was almost deserted, so there was little chance of accidentally bumping into somebody under the cloak. As he neared the wizarding bank, he noticed several witches and wizards loitering around the vicinity. They had cloaks with large hoods on, so he couldn't make out their faces, but Harry assumed these must have been the Death Eaters Dumbledore predicted. Thankful for his Invisibility Cloak, he slowly walked up the steps, and stopped just to the left of the doors. Harry knew it would look strange for the doors to just open by themselves, so he waited for somebody to come in or out of the building. Eventually, an elderly witch exited the bank, and Harry quickly darted inside before the door closed.

Harry scanned the front desks, looking for an opportunity. Business was fairly slow these days, so only half the desks were occupied, but there were still three goblins who weren't tending to a customer or scribbling down notes and figures. Finally, he recognised Griphook, the goblin who had taken Harry to his vault for the first time, all those years ago, on the end. Taking the note he had written earlier that day in preparation from his pocket, he leant against the counter, and quickly placed the note face down. With a flick of his wand underneath the cloak, he pushed the note in front of Griphook's nose. He smiled with relief as Griphook picked up the note with surprise, and began reading.

_To whichever Goblin may read this,_

_I am a customer here at Gringotts, seeking to sort out my business as inconspicuously as possible. As such, I am under the cover of an Invisibility Cloak. I am here to confirm the details and receipt of my share of Mr A. P. W. B. Dumbledore's will. I would be very grateful for any assistance you might lend me in order for me to remain inconspicuous as these I go about my business._

_Yours sincerely,_

_H._

"Harry Potter," Griphook mouthed to himself as he finished reading the note, before looking up sharply, as if trying to spot him. Placing a "Closed" sign on his desk, he reached for a piece of parchment and began scribbling a reply, which he casually brushed sideways off the desk. Harry tried to Summon the note wordlessly, only succeeding in getting it to move a couple of inches, before whispering as quietly as he could, "Accio".

_Mr H._

_Meet me in my office in ten minutes. Go through the corridor that opens into the front office in the back right corner. It is the third office on the left. It will be a pleasure doing business with you again._

_Griphook._

Harry smiled as he read the note. _So Griphook does realise who I am, and he remembers me, _he thought, relieved. This might be simpler than he thought. He scanned the massive room, and found the door he was looking for. He watched as Griphook had a quiet word with another goblin, who nodded and waved him off. Griphook walked over to the opening to the corridor he had indicated in the note, and disappeared from view. Harry waited the ten minutes he had been told to, and then followed. He found the door to the office open, and quietly walked in.

Seeing Griphook sitting at the desk, Harry whispered, "I'm here".

Without hesitating, Griphook calmly stood up and closed the door to the office.

"You can remove your Cloak now, Mr Potter," said the goblin as he sat back down in his chair. Harry revealed himself, feeling slightly embarrassed by all the sneakiness, feeling it was perhaps a little over-the-top.

"Don't be self-conscious, Mr Potter," said Griphook seriously, seeing Harry's expression. "You were right to be cautious. There are servants of the Dark Lord looking very hard for you today. You are lucky you chose me to give your note to. There are some among us who would hand you over to the Dark Lord in a second, given the price on your head."

"I thought goblins didn't get involved in human affairs," said Harry, nervous, realising that he could have been in big trouble.

"Goblins care about goblin affairs, and goblin treasures," said Griphook, rather stiffly. "Voldemort happens to have an abundance of these, gained through treachery and malice. There are some among us naïve enough to believe he would actually pay us if we handed you over."

"So that's the only reason you didn't hand me over?" asked Harry, his anger flaring briefly. "Because there was nothing in it for you? Just not worth your time?"

"Don't be so childish, Mr Potter," replied the goblin levelly. "The Dark Lord despises all non-humans. He tells us he will make life better for the goblins, but I don't believe it for one second. If he establishes control, we will be among the first to be forced into a life of slavery and humiliation, forced to bend to his will in the running of this bank, or banished from the job entirely. Incompetent and arrogant as the wizarding leadership has been in recent years, at least we have had our freedom and rights. You are our only hope of retaining that, Mr Potter. So while it is true, goblins as a rule don't meddle in human affairs, when human affairs undoubtedly affect us, I feel it is my personal duty to do my part for the side most benefiting me and my people. As such, it would be an honour to help you carry out your banking requirements in safety."

Harry looked into the proud eyes of Griphook, and felt a remarkable amount of respect for the goblin, as well as a great appreciation that the goblin understood what Harry, and his mission, stood for.

"Also," continued Griphook, his proud features softening slightly, "you are a friend of Dumbledore's, as is clearly shown in his will. Dumbledore asked me to help you, should you ever request it. You may not know this, but it was I, as a favour to Dumbledore, who allowed your godfather, Mr Black's possessions to be sent to your vault last year, despite his status as a wanted criminal. That is why neither you nor your legal guardians had to do this last year. It was quite unofficial, and….illegal," said Griphook, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Dumbledore was a champion for the rights of goblins, and all manner of non-magical sentient beings, for as long as I can remember," continued Griphook, casting his eyes down briefly. "That is why I considered him a true friend and ally, human though he is. I gave him my word to do the same for you, and I will."

"Thank you, Griphook," said Harry, feeling humbled. "I think I'm going to need all the help I can get."

"Yes, well, let's get down to the business at hand," said Griphook, shuffling a pile of parchments. "First, here are the details of the trust account," he said as he handed Harry a small wad of parchment "You need to sign a document saying that you've received these documents, although copies will always be available from here as well. We'll do that later.

"Also, there is a matter of the items left to you but not put into the trust account. The Pensieve and memories are in your vault, but I have to take you to see them so you can sign another document, confirming this receipt. As the library was never in the possession of Gringotts in the first place, that is not a matter we need to address."

Harry put on his Invisibility Cloak again, and he followed Griphook to a cart. Griphook told Harry to keep his Cloak on until they were underway, but once they started moving, to take it off and hold onto it, as otherwise it would fly off. It was only once their cart had begun to slow down as it approached Harry's vault that Griphook nodded for him to put the Cloak back on. Harry still held on tight, however.

Taking his vault key from his pocket and handing it to Griphook, he waited as the goblin unlocked the vault.

"Here it is," said the goblin, pointing out the Pensieve among the embarrassingly high piles of gold, silver and bronze within the vault. Harry gazed sadly at the treasure which had formerly belonged to Dumbledore, and picked it up.

"I think I'll take this with me now," said Harry, as the phials of silver liquid memories jingled in the basin. As an afterthought, Harry bent down and stuffed as many Galleons as would fit into his money pouch, figuring it would be handy to keep as much money on him as possible.

"OK, time to go," said Griphook, growing impatient. "We need to get these documents signed, and then you're free to go."

Harry threw on the Cloak and exited the vault, Griphook following, and soon they were on their way. Harry covered himself again with the Cloak as he felt the cart slow. As he climbed out after Griphook, he saw a goblin and a wizard rounding the corner and coming down the corridor leading from the entrance area to the carts where Harry stood.

"Griphook," said the strange goblin stiffly when they reached each other.

"Bladetooth," replied Griphook, equally terse.

"Where's your customer," asked the goblin named Bladetooth suddenly, surprised.

"I wasn't with anybody," replied Griphook coolly. "I was merely checking the contents of a vault, as per the request of a customer and personal friend of mine."

"That's not what the wards say," replied Bladetooth, starting to grin malevolently.

"OK, yes, I had a customer," said Griphook, caught. "My customer would rather remain hidden for the time being. In any case, he isn't here anymore. I told him to go ahead. I would say he passed right by you when you stopped."

Harry looked at Griphook nervously from under the Cloak. His goblin friend clearly didn't want this other goblin, Bladetooth, finding him.

"You've got Potter, haven't you?" said Bladetooth, starting to show signs of anger now. "You're just making us goblins enemies in the eyes of the Dark Lord by getting involved with him. You're a fool, Griphook."

At this, the wizard accompanying Bladetooth started to look nervous. He clearly didn't want to get involved in such a confrontation. His agitation obviously began to show, as Bladetooth controlled himself, before beckoning his customer forward and brushing past Griphook without a word. Harry had to quickly move out of the way to avoid the angry goblin, and he noticed Bladetooth turning back and scowling, seeming to stare straight at the spot where Harry stood, before climbing into the cart and setting off.

"Don't say a word until we get back to my office," said Griphook quietly, walking briskly along the corridor. When they reached the office, Griphook closed and locked the door, before heaving a sigh of relief.

"That was Bladetooth. He's one of the goblins here I was warning you about before," said Griphook, as Harry removed his Cloak. "The fool. He doesn't realise that there's no bargaining with the Dark Lord. His pride lets him believe the goblins will play some important part in the Dark Lord's scheme.

"Anyway, we should hurry. Once he's finished with his customer he's bound to try to find you. Here, sign this," he said, handing Harry a piece of parchment, "and this," handing him another. After signing the two documents and handing them to Griphook, the goblin rose and headed to the door, but before Harry could cover himself with his Invisibility Cloak, a small voice whispered from one of Harry's pouches.

"Ahem, Harry, it's Dumbledore. Could we talk? It's rather urgent."

Griphook stood rooted to his spot, surprised, as Harry pulled out the portrait of Dumbledore.

"Ah, hello Griphook," said the portrait as Harry pulled it out. "I take it you've been helping Harry with my will then?"

"Uh, yes, Albus," said Griphook, recovering. "We'd just finished, actually."

"Oh, well, sorry to hold you up, but I have some rather bad news, I'm afraid," said Dumbledore, the concern on his face evident. "Voldemort has taken far less time to seize power than we expected. Scrimgeour was Imperiused, probably sometime today, and I'm not sure by whom. I noticed briefly as he was walking past my portrait, he momentarily broke the curse. As I said, I'm not sure who performed it, but whoever did it didn't do a very good job of it, or else Scrimgeour has even a stronger will than I suspect. In any case, I would think it wouldn't be long before Voldemort himself recasts it. At least we know now."

"What does this mean for the Order?" Harry asked, his mouth dry. He caught Griphook's eye, and saw the alarm in the goblin's expression.

"Well, for the Order as a whole, it will be much the same as usual, at least for the moment. Voldemort will want to keep his cards close to his chest for the time being, until more of the Ministry is under his control. However, it won't be long before you, and by extension Miss Granger and the young Mr Weasley, will need to go into hiding, but that is for another conversation. Oh, and from now onwards the Floo system is completely off limits, though I'll see what I can do about Minerva setting up an unofficial and illegal direct line between Headquarters and Hogwarts. I really should get back to the Ministry now. It is a must that I remain informed. Be safe, you two," said Dumbledore's portrait, a grim smile on his face, as he left his frame.

Harry cast a meaningful look Griphook's way.

"You must leave, now," said the goblin, anxious. "Bladetooth will most likely be back soon."

As if on cue, a knock came on Griphook's door, and Bladetooth's muffled voice was heard


	8. Chapter 8

"Griphook, you are being ridiculous," came the voice of Bladetooth. "Let us have the Potter boy, and we'll let you go. Be sensible about this. The boy won't defeat the You-Know-Who, so just hand him over."

"Bladetooth, you are the one being ridiculous," Griphook shot back, as Harry pulled on the Invisibility Cloak. "The Dark Lord will simply kill you once you hand the boy over. He hates all non-wizardkind, and goblins are no exception. His promises are empty. Why can't you see that?"

"We are too precious, and too powerful, for him to betray us!" cried Bladetooth in reply. "He values the goblins, unlike the current government! For too long we have been subservient to the humans!"

"At least we have been free, Bladetooth. Under You-Know-Who, we will be treated as little more than house elves!"

"He can't!" cried Bladetooth, and Griphook looked worried as he heard the grunts of agreement of what sounded like five or so other goblins. "We are too powerful, too old a species to be treated so badly. The Dark Lord has promised us riches and freedom!"

"And in case you haven't noticed, Bladetooth," Griphook spat, "it is the Dark Lord's wont to lie, and cheat, and go back on his promises. That may be hard for you to understand, but it is fact. He is a human, and that is their flaw!"

"Griphook, I tire from this," said Bladetooth, his voice taking a menacing tone. "We take it the Potter boy is in there with you, else you would have let us in. Well, if you won't open, we'll just have to force our way in."

At this, Griphook looked worried. He knew his door wouldn't stay shut against the combined magic of so many other goblins.

"Alright, you want in? I'll open the door," said Griphook. Waving his hand like a wand at Harry, he stepped towards the door. Harry got the message, and drew his wand from his holster, gripping it tightly.

The door opened, and four goblins streamed into the room, looking around aggressively. Harry had retreated to a corner, across the room from Griphook's desk. He noticed the relieved look on Griphook's face; he clearly expected more opponents.

"Just hand the boy over, and nobody will get hurt," said Bladetooth slowly, scanning the room as if trying to see through Harry's Invisibility Cloak.

"You know I'm not going to do that, Bladetooth," replied Griphook grimly, backing towards his desk. "I made a promise to Dumbledore, and unlike the Dark Lord, I don't go back on my promises." With this, Griphook leapt backwards onto the desk and fired some brand of goblin magic at Bladetooth, who slumped to the floor, unconscious.

Taking this as his cue, Harry fired three consecutive stunners at the remaining goblins. Two hit their mark, but the third flew wide, and the last remaining goblin fired a quick bolt of magic at Griphook as he spun around, trying to figure out where the stunners had come from. The bolt missed Griphook, and as Harry fired a stunner at the last goblin, Griphook fired his own spell. As the two curses struck, the goblin fell to the floor in a heap.

"Go!" hissed Griphook, and Harry needed no further encouragement.

"Thanks, Griphook," he whispered as he exited the room, Pensieve in hand and phials in pockets. Hurrying down the corridor, he found himself once again in the large marble entrance hall. Not willing to risk running, given the sound his feet would make on the hard floor, not to mention the echoes off the marble walls, he walked as briskly as he could across the room. As he reached the front doors, he turned and noticed Bladetooth and the other goblins hurrying into the hall. Deciding it would take too long to wait to follow somebody through the doors, he figured he just had to go barge through and hope he could get away before the Death Eaters stationed outside realised.

Gathering his breath, Harry pushed the doors open and sprinted across Diagon Alley. Hearing the confused grunts of the goblins that guarded the door, and the curse of one of the Death Eaters stationed to watch the entrance, he ran towards a street that branched off Diagon Alley. He was hoping to lose the Death Eaters in the backstreets, before heading back to the Leaky Cauldron, where he'd organised to meet Ron and Hermione. However, he got a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach as he heard the unmistakeable sounds of Apparition. Once he'd reached the small street, he turned to see about twenty Death Eaters spreading across the main alley. Hoping that Ron and Hermione were back at the Leaky Cauldron, he sprinted along the street, before turning right into a small lane, heading towards the pub.

Coming towards an intersection between the lane he was running along and another, heading back out to Diagon Alley, Harry saw a Death Eater round the corner and head his way. Looking back, he saw another one coming up behind him.

"Amycus, you seen anything?" asked the Death Eater behind Harry.

"Of course I aint seen nothing, Rudolphus!" replied the other Death Eater testily. "He's got his bloody cloak on!"

The two Death Eaters were both walking towards Harry as they spoke, and to his terror, Harry found that there was nowhere he could hide. The lane was very narrow, and he didn't think he'd be able to avoid the Death Eaters if either of them walked past him. Deciding his only option was to fight, Harry found a small, loose cobblestone, and, perhaps inspired by his desperate situation, managed to wordlessly Banish it over Amycus' head, to land with a crack just around the corner of the intersection. Amycus turned, and Lestrange immediately began running in the direction of the noise. As he passed Harry, Harry stuck out his foot and shoulder bumped Lestrange to the ground, before Stunning him. Amycus, hearing the racket, turned around again, before Harry hit him with another Stunner. As an afterthought, Harry picked up Lestrange's wand, and summoned Amycus'. He figured that when they came to, it would help to have two less people with wands after him.

He began sprinting down the laneway. He could hear other Death Eaters searching nearby lanes, and he wanted to get out of the area as quickly as possible. He ran into some more Death Eaters along the way, but managed to avoid getting cornered again. Eventually, he turned back into Diagon Alley. There was the wall that led to the Leaky Cauldron. Looking back over his shoulder, he could just see the first of the Death Eaters coming down from the top of the Alley, firing curses randomly, trying to hit Harry with blind luck, since they couldn't see him. Tapping the wall quickly with his wand, he ducked through the archway, and watched with relief as it closed up behind him before any of the Death Eaters saw him.

Walking through the (thankfully open) door from the courtyard into the pub, Harry was relieved to see a worried Ron and Hermione sitting at the bar. There was loud chatter as people discussed the attacks, but this was mostly as people were leaving. Sure that there would be Death Eaters stationed at the pub, as it was the logical place for Harry to flee, he sidled up next to Ron and cast the _muffliato _charm.

"Ron, don't react. It's me," Harry whispered into his friend's ear. "We need to get out of here now. I'm sure there are Death Eaters here," and as he said that, he caught sight of the same, brutal-faced Death Eater that had been present when Dumbledore died, sitting in the corner. "Open the door for Hermione, I'll be right behind her and you follow after, OK?"

Ron didn't respond, instead tapping Hermione on the arm and repeating Harry's instructions. To Harry's friends' credit, they acted convincingly. They calmly paid Tom for the drinks they'd been sipping as they waited, Ron making a small deal about paying for Hermione's drink, an offer which Hermione politely accepted. They were just a young couple on a date, which had been unfortunately cut short by the attacks. Harry just hoped the Death Eater in the corner didn't recognise Ron's hair as Weasley hair, as it was common knowledge the Weasleys associated with Harry, but he didn't seem interested.

Ron held the door open for Hermione, and Harry followed closely behind, as they walked out into Muggle London. None of them daring to speak until they knew they were safe, they walked into a side street, and Apparated onto the front doorstep of Headquarters. They walked in and flopped down onto the living room couch, nerve-wracked and exhausted.

"So You-Know-Who is in control, then?" said Ron, sombre, after Harry finished reciting his story. "I guess he's more confident now that he's got Dumbledore out of his way," he continued bitterly.

"Oh, God, this is just horrible," added Hermione, a panicky edge to her voice. "If V-Voldemort is in control of the Ministry, he'll start passing laws that will make life for us impossible! We might have to go completely into hiding!"

"Don't worry, Hermione," said Harry, trying to calm her down, but happy to hear her use the name. "Dumbledore said that Voldemort will keep his cards fairly close to his chest for the time being. I think he may want to gain a bit more support before he reveals that he's in power. We just have to be quicker, and more careful, in our search for the Horcruxes. Speaking of which, how did you two go?"

"Dung didn't have it anymore," said Ron, and Harry's face fell.

"He sold it," added Hermione.

"SHIT!" cursed Harry, dropping his head into his hands. "Who to?" he asked, looking up.

"You're not going to like this, Harry," warned Ron, and Hermione shook her head gently in agreement.

"Who? Who was it?" asked Harry, agitated.

"He sold it to Snape," Hermione finally burst out. "I'm sorry."

Harry was quiet for a long time, pondering just what this meant.

"So not only does a Death Eater have the locket," Harry said slowly, refusing to use Snape's name, "but now Voldemort undoubtedly knows that somebody has become aware of his secret. This is bad. This is very bad."

"Mundungus said he sold it to Snape in June," Hermione said. "In fact, it was only the day before the night Dumbledore died. He said Snape had been very interested in the locket, and he didn't know why. Snape must have known it was a Horcrux!"

Harry sat in silence for a moment, trying to put his hatred of Snape aside and think clearly, but unable to do so.

Eventually, he said, "I think we should talk to Dumbledore about this."

The others agreed, and Harry called Dumbledore to the portrait hanging on the wall.

"Ah, Harry, Ron, Hermione, good to see you all made it back in one piece," said Dumbledore, a smile on his face but lacking the twinkle in his eye, which betrayed his true disposition.

"We know where the locket is," said Harry, his eyes downcast.

"Surely that is good news?" inquired Dumbledore, worried.

"Dung sold it to Snape," Harry spat bitterly. "Voldemort has it now."

Dumbledore looked down at the three friends, puzzlement written across his face.

"Are you sure?" he asked Ron and Hermione.

"Dung swears it," replied Ron. "We weren't gentle about it when we heard either. We made sure he was telling the truth."

"Did he say when he sold it to Severus?"

"It was only a day before you were killed," answered Hermione, wondering if this was significant. A look of dawning comprehension passed Dumbledore's face, before he again began to look puzzled. He wouldn't reveal what was puzzling him, though he had a distinctly happier look about him now, which in turn puzzled the three friends greatly.

"So now what do we do?" asked Harry, annoyed that Dumbledore didn't seem to think this news as bad as they did.

"I would give up on that Horcrux for the time being," suggested Dumbledore. 'The situation may change in the future, but for now, it is out of your grasp. Instead I would focus on Hufflepuff's Cup. Have a look at my memories that I left you. See if you can spot any clues I might have missed."

They spoke with Dumbledore a bit longer, Dumbledore describing the situation at the Ministry, and Harry, Ron and Hermione describing their days. Eventually, they decided it was time for lunch. Dumbledore excused himself, saying he needed to speak with Professor McGonagall at Hogwarts, as the three friends made themselves some sandwiches. They spent the rest of the day simply relaxing, having decided that they deserved it, after a stressful day. They briefly visited the Burrow, staying for dinner, and there they chatted about Dumbledore's news that Scrimgeour was under Voldemort's control. There was a deep sense of unease at the table as they spoke. Mrs Weasley was happy for Ron to stay at Grimmauld Place, as she figured it was among the best protected places there could be. In order to keep her feeling that way, they told her nothing of their activities that day.

Eventually, they Apparated back to Headquarters. Harry was feeling tired, depressed and disheartened after the day's events, and all he really wanted to do was sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

"Hello Severus," a voice floated from across the room, "my sources tell me you've come into possession of something quite valuable."

"I don't know what you mean, Albus," replied Snape, lifting his eyes to the small, simple portrait frame lying face down on the mantelpiece, before crossing the room and righting it.

"Thank you, Severus, that was an exceedingly boring view," said Dumbledore airily. "This is much better."

"What is it you think I have, Albus?"

"Mundungus Fletcher tells me that in June, you purchased a rather valuable locket from him," replied Dumbledore, blue eyes twinkling.

"Oh, yes, the locket," replied Snape, somewhat reluctantly.

"Tell me, Severus, how did you know?"

"Know what?"

"Don't be sheepish, Severus. You know what I'm referring to."

Snape sighed, before walking over to a box on his desk. Removing a false bottom with a spell, he lifted out a large silver pendant.

"The silent portrait of Salazar Slytherin in our common room," Snape replied. "I often studied it, since I was a student, even. I find him....fascinating. I recognised the pendant at once as Slytherin's. Mundungus the fool had no idea, of course, so I got it for a fraction of its true value."

Dumbledore's expression didn't change, though a careful observer might have noticed a touch of relief grace his eyes.

"I trust Tom knows nothing of this?" enquired Dumbledore, looking over his half-moon spectacles from the portrait frame.

"Tell him? Just so he could take it from me?" Snape sneered, gazing through the small window of his bedroom. "I know how much it would mean to him. I rather like knowing that I have something he desires so much."

"Well unfortunately, Severus, I'm afraid you won't be able to keep it much longer. That locket is rather more important than you realise."

Snape simply let his gaze linger on the dim sky outside.

"Of course, Albus, as soon as I come into possession of something I so value, it must be taken from me," sighed Snape. "Such is your genius, and my luck. Why, may I ask?"

"I cannot tell you," replied Dumbledore, predictably. Snape was used to being kept in the dark. "In fact, I would have much preferred it had you never come across it in the first place. If Tom ever were to find out we had this conversation, the results would be disastrous. You must simply believe me when I say that Tom needs this locket far more than you could ever imagine, and you will be spiting him more by placing it in the care of the Order than you ever could by merely coveting it."

"Yes, Albus, of course," replied Snape, his eyes downcast. "You're going to destroy it, aren't you? It's a shame, a terrible waste."

"It will probably be irreversibly damaged, yes," replied the portrait honestly. Snape merely nodded.

"On a brighter note, how is our little project coming along?" Dumbledore's figure leant forward in his armchair, expectant.

"It is not yet ready, though it is close. Perhaps another week, most of my work is done, it simply needs to brew. It is difficult," Snape admitted, though he also seemed pleased with himself. "The Dark Lord has promoted me, and has been rather demanding of my time since my... ah, achievement."

"Very well, Severus, I trust you are going as fast as you can. How much did you say you were preparing?"

"I decided upon a full cauldron, in the end. One drop of mandrake essence is enough for a full cauldron when other ingredients are combined, according to the proportions you provided. I didn't dare try to use a smaller amount; even the smallest error in measurement would represent a very large change in the proportions at such as small volume. That is also why it is taking so long. I need only add the Dittany of Crete and asphodel tomorrow afternoon, before it will be ready to sit."

"Very well. Thank you, Severus, you are doing a wonderful job. As soon as it is ready, let me know."

"Of course." Snape inclined his head.

"One more thing, Severus," added Dumbledore. "I must ask you how young Mr. Malfoy has been faring?"

"He is...." Snape's eyes were lowered, he shuffled his feet. "The Dark Lord and Bellatrix tortured and killed Lucius and Narcissa in front of Draco, as a lesson. He is damaged, as you can imagine. He will either fully submit to the Dark Lord's will, or else he will attempt to break away once he has had time to recover. Either way I do not see it ending well for the boy. In the mean time, he is.... shell-like. But alive."

"Very well, Severus," answered the portrait, sadness colouring his voice. "He is not yet beyond rescue, though his experience will have affected him greatly. I can only hope he starts making better choices for himself. Can I ask you, Severus, to please do all you can to push him away from the Death Eaters?"

"But Albus, if I am seen to be undermi-"

"Not like that, Severus," said the portrait, raising a hand. "Taunt him. Bully him. Make him despise you, Tom, the Death Eaters, and everything they stand for. I happen to know you have a talent for that."

"Albus, I do n-"

"Please, Severus, you do. It is who you are, and we accept it. Now use it. If he can be convinced to flee, the Order may be able to step in, win his trust."

"You always were an accepting one, weren't you, Albus?" commented Snape drily. "Very well, I will see what I can do. If he flees, I will alert you. We can only hope."

"Thank you, Severus. I know you will do your best."

* * *

Harry, Ron and Hermione had been poring over Dumbledore's memories of Riddle in the Pensieve for almost a week, but were having little luck. They suspected Hufflepuff's Cup, as had Dumbledore, but had no definitive evidence, nor any clue where it could be hidden. They had found a memory in which Riddle was seen admiring, almost trancelike, a statue of Hufflepuff holding her Cup, but that was the only success they had had so far. Dumbledore's portrait offered assistance and suggestions, but as these were Dumbledore's own memories of his explorations of Tom's past, and they were looking for details overlooked rather than the obvious, it was still a very slow process.

"Perhaps we're not looking in the right places," offered Ron. "If Dumbledore's portrait can't think of anything, maybe we should explore some of the places ourselves. Like Dumbledore did."

"Perhaps a wise suggestion," chimed in the portrait, who had only that moment returned from the Ministry. "But first, I have news. Voldemort's infiltration of the Ministry seems not to have progressed much further, or else he's being very quiet about it. Scrimgeour is acting rather normally, and there have been few indications anybody else has fallen under the Imperius curse, or are Death Eaters themselves. This is fantastic news: it suggests that there is an organised resistance within the Ministry, thwarting, for the moment, Tom's plans, or at least forcing him to be cautious. Scrimgeour is still Imperiused, however, and that remains as significant as ever."

The trio didn't really know whether to take this as good news or bad. They were glad to be informed, however.

"Secondly, Harry, that birthday present I mentioned earlier. It will be ready in three days. Professor McGonagall will deliver it to you. Now, I must pop off. Many things to do. I must say, I'm far more busy as a portrait than I ever was as a Headmaster. Do keep at it!" And with that, Dumbledore vanished from the frame, before Harry could begin to ask the question that had been formulating as Dumbledore spoke. Instead, he asked Ron and Hermione.

"Birthday present? Nice, I'd forgotten about that. What do you reckon it is?"

"Beats me," said Ron, grinning. "You should just be glad you're getting another bloody one."

Hermione simply looked at the pair as if they were stupid. "Can't you two see that this will be more than a simple present. Didn't you see how quickly Dumbledore left after he mentioned it? He really did not want to discuss it. This will be something important, I know it. Something to do with defeating V-Voldemort."

Hermione stammered at the name, though she was getting used to saying it. Ron still cringed, but he too was using the name.

"In fact, I'd be willing to bet it will be Slytherin's locket," continued Hermione. "You both saw how odd he acted when he heard Snape had bought it, as if he didn't believe it, especially when I said it happened before Snape betrayed him. He knows something."

"That's all very well, Hermione," said Harry, "and it might be important, but I wouldn't get your hopes up that it's the locket. Dumbledore mentioned the birthday present when I first spoke to him, the day after Bill's wedding. He didn't even know whether we'd found the locket at that point. On my birthday, he said it wasn't ready yet. You don't have to prepare a locket."

"Oh," said Hermione, disappointed. It wasn't often she was wrong about these things. "Well, we'll see. In any case, back to your suggestion Ron. Where do you think we should look?"

"I think we should check out the orphanage," he said. "Start at the beginning."

"But Dumbledore has already been there," said Harry, annoyed at their lack of progress.  
"We checked out his memories, it's not there any more, it's a bed and breakfast for Merlin's sake!"

"Well, we should check it again," said Ron, unusually confident. "I want to check his room. Dumbledore didn't really look properly, did he? Not to knock the old man, but he only asked for information, and left when he found out where that Mrs Cole's daughter was living. I'll bet going back to check it properly would have been one of the first things on his list after the cave trip."

"I suppose he did get side-tracked," said Harry thoughtfully, remembering the chain of memories they had reviewed taking Dumbledore to the ring. "It would be good to get away from this Pensieve and do something else, for a change. Feel like we're achieving something."

"Then it's settled," said Ron, standing up. "Let's go."

Both Harry and Hermione were rather taken aback by Ron's sudden decisiveness. Hermione was looking at Ron with a look that was very hard to place, a mixture of confusion, pride and.... Harry thought Hermione might have been admiring Ron as well.

"Great," said Hermione. "Lead the way, Ron." Ron's ears went redder than his hair.

They found the orphanage by reviewing Dumbledore's more recent memory of the orphanage, which came from only about 4 years ago. Hermione, after some careful study, recognised a brief flash of Vauxhall station just off the road upon which Dumbledore strode towards the old orphanage.

"I know that station! The orphanage is in Battersea," cried Hermione triumphantly, before they left the memory. Once they had surfaced, the continued, "Or Nine Elms. It's on Nine Elms Lane. There's a restaurant near there that my parents simply love. I know just where to go."

They reviewed Dumbledore's original memory of meeting Riddle, memorising exactly which room had been Tom's. They Apparated to Hermione's house, to look up the number of the bed and breakfast, and Hermione phoned to see if the room was occupied.

".....Second landing, first door you see. Of course it isn't? Haunted?" At this, Hermione shot Harry and Ron a meaningful glance. "Well of course, that's why we want to see it. Yes, yes, quite sure. A school project, that's all. Would we be able to come tonight? That's perfect, thank you!"

As neither Ron nor Harry had any clue where Battersea was, and Apparating to a place you'd never been before was very tricky business, especially for the inexperienced, they decided it was best to take Muggle transport.

The trio made sure to dress as casually as possible for the Muggle world (there would be no dragon hide boots or gloves for Harry this time, though he did wear his graphorn hide undershirt and the Weasley travelling coat to deflect attention), before setting off. They Apparated with a pop, arriving at the one Muggle train station they all knew: Kings Cross.

Hermione led them to the Tube lines, leading a baffled Harry and Ron, who had only ever experienced the overground platforms at Kings Cross.

"OK, we want the Victoria Line," instructed Hermione, "Southbound. Ah, here, follow me," she said, finding a sign directing them to the right platform.

"Now, we want Vauxhall station, so make sure it's going that far at least," she continued once they'd arrived at their platform. "Yes, Brixton, 1 minute. Perfect."

Before long they were on the train, Ron trying hard not to comment on the newspapers and ads with images that would stay stubbornly still no matter how long he looked, the slender electronic display revealing which station was next, or the annoyingly obvious lack of a food trolley.

"The Hogwarts Express is the only train I've ever been on, you know," he confided to Harry as quietly as possible. "Whenever I've been on a train, I've had chocolate frogs and stuff. It's making me hungry!"

"Oh, quiet, Ron, stop complaining," whispered Hermione. "Besides, you hardly need an excuse to be hungry."

At this Harry sniggered, and Ron punched him not-so-gently in the arm.

Eventually, it was announced that they'd arrived at Vauxhall station. Hermione once again led the way, and they exited the station, opening out onto a wide street.

"This way, come on," led Hermione, beckoning Ron and Harry.

"How far is it?" complained Ron as they walked, not used to spending so much time on transport.

"Shut it, Ron," replied Hermione irritably. "Would you prefer to get splinched? Or end up in the Thames? Besides, it will be 5 minutes."

It turned out to be more like 10 minutes, but this didn't worry Hermione. Eventually they found the place. By this time, the sun had begun to set, lending the place a rather spooky atmosphere.

They were ushered up the stairs, the wide-eyed middle-aged receptionist chatting nervously about how anybody who was given the room always asked to be moved the next day.

"It's just gives 'em the creeps, you see," she said. "I feel it too, just cleaning it up makes me hairs stand on end. Nothing about it I can place, but everyone's the same. Well, here it is."

They had arrived on the second landing, and there was the long corridor from Dumbledore's memory, and there was the door to Tom Riddle's old room.

"I'll leave you three to it," the receptionist said as she opened the door. "I try to avoid going in there when I can."

The trio entered, and immediately, they knew what she'd meant. But to them, it wasn't creepy. It just felt like one of those places that had known magic. Lots of it. They got excited.

"Are you getting the same feeling I am?" asked Harry, gazing around at the walls, the window, the bed. Ron murmured "yep", while Hermione nodded.

The room was almost unrecognisable from the one in Dumbledore's memory. The walls had stayed where they were, and that was about it. The bed was different, and moved, the cupboard which Dumbledore had set alight was no longer there, and the carpet was completely different. Well, it had been some time since it was last an ophanage.

"So, uh, what are we looking for again?" asked Harry, after a brief circuit of the room.

"I dunno," replied Ron, "but there's definitely something here."

"But how do we find it?" wondered Hermione. She tapped on the floorboards with her fingers, testing for hollowness.

"He'll hardly have hidden something under the floorboards," Ron said, his annoyance audible. "He's only the greatest Dark Wizard of all time."

"I was just trying!"

"Yeah, well, it was stupid."

"Well sorry, Ronald oh wise one, what's your plan?"

"I dunno," said Ron after a stumped pause. "We'll keep looking, I guess. Just.... use your head."

Hermione shot Ron a look that could have melted steel. Harry grinned to himself. He hadn't walked in on the pair since the morning of their trip into Diagon Alley, but the signs were still popping up. Even when they were bickering, there was a.... closeness to it, something extra. They were comfortable with each other.

After a fruitless search effort, examining the walls and floors for serpent figures, etchings, anything at all, the trio were forced to call it a night. They thanked the receptionist on their way down, walked a short distance before they found a nice gap between two buildings, slipped out of view and Apparated back to Headquarters.


	10. Chapter 10

"We found something," Harry told Dumbledore's portrait excitedly the next day. "Well, sort of."

"There's definitely something there," Hermione nodded, "only we can't find what it is."

"Well, now that does come as some surprise," replied Dumbledore, looking over his spectacles thoughtfully at the trio, from his position on the wall. "If what you've found is a Horcrux.... Well, it would surprise me very much if chose to honour with a piece of his soul the place that brought him such misery."

"We know what we felt," said Harry, determined. The other two murmured their agreement. "Muggles can feel it! They say it's haunted. Maybe it's not a Horcrux, but whatever it is, it's worth checking out."

"Perhaps you're correct," said Dumbledore, "But it does surprise me. In any case, I would much prefer the three of you didn't chase it quite yet. You are not yet equipped to destroy a Horcrux, and any Horcruxes you find will be well protected. Your mission should simply be to gather information, find clues, something you are doing far better than I could have imagined."

"But sir," cried Ron, angry, "you just want us to sit around? How much better equipped are we going to be?"

"Mr Weasley," Dumbledore began, his eyes twinkling over his half-moon spectacles, "you have no idea. Now, please excuse the abrupt request, but I must ask yourself and Ms Granger to kindly leave the room. I have something I must discuss with Mr Potter in absolute privacy."

"Professor Dumbledore," objected Harry, "where Ron and Hermione are concerned, I have no secrets."

"Yes, yes, quite," said the portrait, as Ron and Hermione looked touched, "but I'm afraid I must insist." He smiled kindly. "You of course have permission to relay the conversation afterwards if you so choose."

Harry objected again, but the portrait was not to be moved, so eventually Ron and Hermione shuffled out. It was not until their footsteps were heard climbing the stairs that Dumbledore's portrait began to speak.

"I apologise, Harry, but this is of vital importance. Do apologise on my behalf to Ms Granger and Mr Weasley when we are done too, if you would be so kind."

"I wouldn't worry," replied Harry, a grin tugging at his features, "I think they're secretly quite glad of the time alone."

"How do you...." began Dumbledore, before his eyes widened and a smile blossomed on his face. "Ah, so it finally happened. I must say, I have been wondering."

"I think everybody has," laughed Harry.

There was a moment of happy silence, before Dumbledore shifted forward in his frame.

"Now, since our little chat yesterday, I have had the opportunity to confirm the progress of your.... gift. Now that I am sure there will be no more delays, I feel like I can reveal to you exactly what I have in store.

"You are a very young wizard Harry, too young. It has been troubling me, ever since Voldemort returned. The prophecy, when I heard it, well, I didn't picture a boy of 17. When Voldemort returned at the end of your fourth year, it didn't seem right. It was... premature. Time was suddenly against us. I divided my energy between ensuring your safety, fulfilling my duties as Headmaster, exploring Tom's past, and trying to find a way to buy us some time.

"And then, about 18 months ago, I rediscovered an ancient, legendary and largely forgotten piece of magic I had come across in my studies many years ago. It wasn't perfect, and I realised huge sacrifices would have to be made, but it was our best shot, so I began preparing. Yes, 18 months of preparation. I assure you, it was necessary. Research, mainly. I had to study the most ancient of ancient runes, the most legendary of wizards, Merlin in particular, and delve into the very nature of magic itself."

Harry sat quietly as he listened to the portrait. This all seemed very well, but it was going over his head a bit.

"Harry," continued the portrait, "what I'm talking about is a way of fitting over seven years of living, breathing experience into three days. There is a realm, a world, a plane, a set of dimensions, whatever you'd like to call it, which is separate to this one. In fact it is one of uncountably many, though the physical laws are identical in most ways, allowing it to harbour the consciousness of a human individual. The vast, vast majority of these other realms are devoid of anything, their laws being unsuitable for the sustenance of energy in any state recognisable to us. At least, that is what is theorised. But, the realm we're interested in is rather like our world, uncommonly so, even. According to ancient publications on the matter, this realm possesses one quality which makes it perfect for our uses: time does not move nearly as quickly. Well, it is more complicated than that, time is a tricky concept, but from the perspective of one moving between the two realms, and for the purposes of an easy explanation, one hour here equates to roughly 880 hours in the realm. It is also, as it happens, more responsive to magic, but that is merely a bonus.

"Harry, it is my great desire for you to visit this realm. It will provide a fantastic opportunity for you to train, to develop the skills you will need to destroy Voldemort once and for all. Your body will stay in this world, unconscious but alive, which is why I would not want you to stay any longer than three days, while your consciousness will travel to the other realm. The gift I have arranged for you will allow you to get there."

Harry was silent. In a matter of moments, he had gone from wondering which memory he should explore next, how best to explore the orphanage, and what to do for lunch, to whether or not he wanted to explore an entirely new realm, a new existence, something unimaginable to most. And train. Training would be good. He'd been having the exact same reservations Dumbledore had, but hadn't quite realised it until it had been put into words.

"So, uh, did you say seven.... seven years?" asked Harry tentatively, still not quite sure what to make of all this.

"Yes, Harry. I know, it's a long time, but that is precisely why it will be so useful."

"And... I'll be able to train?"

"Yes, Harry," replied the portrait patiently.

"Who will train me?" asked Harry, confused. "Will anybody else come with me? What about Ron and Hermione?"

"I'm afraid Mr Weasley and Ms Granger will not be able to accompany you," replied Dumbledore, knowing this would be the most difficult part for Harry to overcome. "I'm sorry, but it is not possible."

"So, I'll be alone?" he asked, digesting this information.

"Not at all," replied the portrait with a gentle smile. "You will have a guide. It has been arranged. You will also have an almost unlimited source of information."

"A what?"

"It's a tome. You will see. An artefact of myth and legend, but also one of reality, that exists in this other realm. It will be of great use to you."

Questions were burning inside Harry as he heard this, and he felt a deep desire stirring within to learn, to experience such legendary magic, to grow. His eyes glinted with excitement at the opportunity, but before he could start asking questions, Dumbledore's portrait continued.

"I do not need an answer now, Harry, but please do not ask more about what I have told you. I have told you all I can for now. The only cost, though a great one, will be the time spent away from this world. While for us here, your absence will be fleeting, a mere matter of three days, to you it will seem unimaginably long. You will not be alone, you will not be bored, but it will be intense, stressful, and terribly lonely. One man's company in a largely empty world for seven years is not ideal, but it is the best I can do."

They shared a moment of silence. For Harry, the full implications of going through with this were still sinking in.

"It will be hard, Harry. I hope you will agree, but I could not possibly force you. Now, that will be all. Please think about it, and discuss it with Mr Weasley and Ms Granger if you wish."

With that, the portrait leant back in his chair, offering nothing more but a sad smile.

* * *

"Blimey," breathed Ron after Harry relayed what Dumbledore's portrait had told him. "That would be amazing! You should do it! Imagine how much more powerful you'd be, in just three days!"

"Oh, I'm so jealous, that tome sounds fantastic!" added Hermione, wide-eyed.

"But..." Harry trailed off. He hadn't expected his friends to be so excited about it. Harry was excited about the idea of getting stronger, but by far the most dominant emotion was the daunting thought of 7 years alone, or with some stranger, without his friends to lean on, laugh with, spend time with. And would he age? Would he come back a man in his mid twenties? He figured not, since his body apparently stayed in this world, but these thoughts were spinning around his head so fast that he didn't know what he thought, what he wanted, and whether he was being ridiculous by hesitating.

"Harry, you should be thrilled," continued Hermione, patting him on the shoulder as Ron nodded in agreement. "You'll learn so much, and you'll take V-Voldemort by surprise, and you'll have done something most people wouldn't have even dreamed possible! It's incredible! It's too good to be true!"

"Yeah, I guess," mumbled Harry, troubled. He simply couldn't share his friends' enthusiasm, and it bothered him. He decided he didn't want to talk about it any more.

"Well, do you want to look through more memories?" suggested Harry, changing the subject.

"Yeah, sure," answered a frowning Ron. Hermione wore an unreadable expression, but fetched the Pensieve. The rest of the morning was spent on Pensieve, but once again, despite Harry's frustration, Hermione's disappointment and Ron's eternal optimism, they achieved very little.

Harry didn't sleep that night. A kind of giddy nervousness had overcome him, the weight of the decision hanging over his head too unbelievable to seem anything but a joke. But behind this giddiness, as dawn broke through his window, resolve was forming. On the one hand, he could take the biggest step towards defeating Voldemort he ever had, or ever could, and indulge in a once in a lifetime experience almost certainy unrivalled by any living person today. This was what was causing the giddiness, keeping him on the verge of excited, almost manic laughter, a sensation Harry, when he detached himself, found amusing itself. On the other hand, he would have to say goodbye to his friends for seven whole years. Hadn't Dumbledore said love was his greatest weapon? The weapon that would finally defeat Voldemort? Surely, to abandon the companionship of his friends was to abandon his love for them. And what about Dumbledore simply thrusting this upon him? It was obvious that Dumbledore expected him to say "yes", whatever his portrait said.

_You don't spend 18 months preparing something just to go off and die and hope that the person you've done it for won't mind 7 years of torturous solitude, _Harry thought bitterly. _And then to say I can't ask questions!_

Harry's rebellious streak was stirring. Fuelled by frustration at their lack of progress, their lack of ideas, and ironically, though Harry failed to see it at the time, their lack of experience, Harry decided he didn't want to be a slave to Dumbledore's whims any longer. As far as Harry was concerned, he had been handed this responsibility, it was his choice what to do with it. And his choice was rapidly becoming clear.

"I don't want to do this," whispered Harry softly, as the the first quiet chirrups of birds woken by the breaking dawn floated through Harry's window. And with that, a sudden coldness fell over the thought of that other realm, that dark, lonely, lifeless place, sweeping away any grand ideas he'd had of it, replaced with a simple contentment. He was making the right decision. He was in control.

Harry closed his eyes, and was asleep within seconds.


	11. Chapter 11

When Harry informed his friends of his decision, they were less than impressed.

"You're barmy," muttered Ron, as Hermione lectured Harry on the opportunity he was throwing away.

"Thanks Ron, that really helps," Harry shot back, annoyed. _Why can't they ever just support me?_ he thought angrily.

"Well you are," Ron continued, his voice rising as Hermione's lecture continued in the background, largely unheeded. "You could actually do something great here, actually strike a blow against You-Kno – VOLDEMORT, and you refuse because you don't want to be told what to do! It's selfish, that's what it is!"

"And I'm not allowed to be a bit selfish for once?" Harry yelled, temper boiling over. "My whole life I've either been locked in a cupboard, or dealing with being the fucking Chosen One! I haven't had a choice my entire life, and now I do, and I want to take it!"

"So you really choose to let V-Voldemort win, do you?" asked Ron, disbelieving.

"So that's it, you don't really think I can beat Voldemort, do you?"

"No," said Ron, panicking. He hadn't meant to say that. "You're just not ready yet, and this would be this best chance of getting ready. It's only three days. And would you SHUT UP HERMIONE!"

This last part was said in unison; Harry and Ron turned on Hermione, who swallowed her next point about how well Harry would do in his NEWTs with seven years to study.

"Sorry," said Ron, while Harry looked apologetic, "but really, NEWTs?"

Hermione looked hurt, but nodded.

"Listen, you two," said Harry, trying to get back on track, "it's all very well for you to say that I'm mad, but you're not the ones who have to do it. For you it will be like I've gone away for three days. For me, I'll be alone for seven years. Seven bloody lonely years, where I won't see you, I won't see anybody, I won't do anything but train, and I know the whole time I'll be worrying about you two, because like it or not, it will seem like seven years to me, and seven years is plenty of time for Voldemort or the Death Eaters to come and hunt you down, and that's not a feeling I'm going to be able to shake. I can't do that. I can't abandon you, even if it is for 3 days, because it won't be for me. You just have to accept that. I can't do it.

"Just try to see it from my perspective, OK? It's not just about being independent. I'm scared. It will be too hard. It's not something I can handle. I'm sorry."

With this admission, any further objections Ron and Hermione had died in their throat. Hermione's eyes began to well up, and she flung her arms around Harry, a muffled apology escaping from Harry's shoulder. Ron was silent, but he came forward and ruffled Harry's hair before giving him a brief one-armed hug.

The three friends spent the rest of the day relaxing. Harry informed Dumbledore's portrait of his decision. The portrait's face fell, his eyes lowered, and his figure seemed to shrink further into his chair, but all he said was, "Very well, Harry, I know it was a big ask."

Fed up with being cooped up at Grimmauld Place, Harry suggested they see a movie. While perhaps not the smartest thing to do when you're more or less in hiding, they figured the Muggle world was relatively safe. Harry once again donned his new travelling coat, and they set off.

As they left the central London cinema and walked out onto a crowded street, one voice cut through the din, and the hair on the back of Harry's neck stood on end.

".... Weasleys, I'm sure of it, look at the hair, I know I've seen it before," came the voice.

"Are you sure? I didn't get a look at him. What would he be doing here?"

"You of all people know they hang around the Potter boy, and he lives with Muggles."

"I didn't see Potter with him," came the second voice, and Harry thought he might recognise it. It did not bring to mind happy thoughts. All of a sudden on guard, Harry caught Ron's eyes, while grabbing Hermione and moving quickly down a little side street. Ron got the message; he had heard the voices too, and knew he had already been seen. Trying to act casually, he walked past the side street, while Harry grabbed his Invisibility Cloak from a backpack he'd been carrying. He had taken it just in case, and if the source of the voices were Death Eaters, and they were actively looking for him, his travelling coat would be of little use.

"Harry, what's happening?" asked Hermione, worried. "Why did we leave Ron?"

"Somebody recognised him," replied Harry through gritted teeth. "How could I have been so careless?" he continued, berating himself.

"What, Death Eaters? Here?"

"I don't know, but I'm not taking any chances," replied Harry. "Now quickly, get under the cloak, we should both fit, then we can rejoin Ron."

"But Harry, it's crowded out there, we can't move under the cloak there, not the two of us!"

Harry swore under his breath. A nice afternoon out had turned bad very quickly.

"OK, you take the cloak, I'll make do with my coat," he said, and before Hermione could protest, he was off, racing down a far less crowded parallel street to meet up with Ron a block further. Footsteps echoing behind him told him Hermione was following. He darted up the next street and saw that he'd beaten Ron, who was taking it slowly. And sure enough, there were two men following him, one taller, and quite old, and one short. And no, he couldn't be. Harry's heart fell as he recognised the short one.

"Wormtail," Harry whispered despairingly. Harry felt an arm on his shoulder, and turned to find Hermione's disembodied hand floating behind him, before disappearing back into the folds of the Invisibility Cloak.

"Alright, I'm gonna try to catch his eye, get him to turn down here, if we're quick we'll be able to Apparate before they can follow him." But even as he spoke, the crowd seemed to part, and as Harry looked from behind the corner, he saw the taller man dart forward, and as if in slow motion, grab Ron and Disapparate with a small pop.

"Ron!" yelled Harry, stunned. Without wasting a moment on thinking, he tore the Invisbility Cloak off Hermione and sprinted onto the street. Wormtail was still there; he had heard Harry exclaim, and his small eyes were darting around, trying to find the source.

"What was that?"

"Did that man just disappear?"

"Ouch, who was that?"

Harry passed these voices with barely a thought. His eyes were on his quarry. Just as he was about to throw himself at Wormtail in a full-bodied tackle, he came to his senses. The crowd was milling about again, and Harry could no longer move as freely. Wormtail was still searching for him, so he moved carefully behind him.

"Alright, you little piece of shit, where did they go," hissed Harry in Wormtail's ear as he pressed his wand into the traitor's back. Wormtail immediately stiffened with fear. "Don't make a move," continued Harry savagely, as he saw Wormtail's silver hand twitch. "If you do I'll blast you into a million bloody pieces, for real this time."

"OK, OK," hissed Wormtail, "he's not with the Dark Lord, don't worry. He's been taken to my place."

"Take me there," ordered Harry immediately. He was beyond rational thinking, all he knew was that he wanted nothing more than to find Ron and bring him back.

"Really? OK, with pleasu-"

"And no funny stuff," Harry continued, "If the first thing I see when we get there isn't Ron then you're dead."

"OK, OK, we'll go. It's all the same to me."

And with a pop, they were gone, leaving a stunned Hermione alone on the London street.

"Harry?" she called, hoping he was still there under the Cloak. "Harry? Are you there? Harry?"

Her calls went unanswered. Listless, she returned to Headquarters, tears streaming from her eyes.

"Ron!" yelled Harry, as he recovered his balance. And there he was, unconscious on the dusty wooden floorboards of a dingy living room, the tall Death Eater standing from his chair in the corner as he saw Wormtail and heard Harry's voice. Without wasting a second, Harry stunned Wormtail, but before he could turn his wand on the taller Death Eater, Ron was awake, and writhing in pain under the Cruciatus curse.

"I'd stay there if I was you, Mr Potter," came an oily voice all too familiar. Harry turned, still under the cover of the Cloak, but that was quickly banished across the room, landing with a flop in the corner. He looked down. His footprints were clearly visible on the dusty floor. Severus Snape stood there, cold eyes calculating, as Harry fixed him with a stare of utmost hatred.

"_Petrificus Totalus_," the former Professor muttered, and Harry fell to the floor in a full body bind. "You shouldn't have brought them here, this place is not well protected. And stop it, Nott, the Weasley boy will suffer enough at the hands of the Dark Lord."

"Aww, come on, Severus," said Nott, and Harry remembered the tall Death Eater from the Department of Mysteries. "I've only been out a few weeks, it's been too long since I've had this sort of fun!"

Harry looked on, helpless, as his best friend squirmed under the effects of the Cruciatus curse. His blood was boiling, he was mad with helplessness. Snape crossed the room wordlessly and revived Wormtail.

"Now remember, the Dark Lord wants Potter. Do not kill him. Try not to kill the Weasley boy either, if you can help it. When the Dark Lord returns, I dare say he'll enjoy having the pair. In the mean time, try not to mess up."

"Of course, Severus," breathed Wormtail as he picked himself off the floor and dusted himself off. Nott looked up from his torture for a moment to nod his agreement.

"Now, I must find the Dark Lord. He is meant to be in Nigeria today, but I'm sure his recruitment drives can be put on hold for a find such as this. How did you say you found them again?"

"Dumb luck, Severus," replied Nott jauntily, lifting his curse. "We were coming back from Avery's, came onto a Muggle street, there they were. I spotted the Weasley, but we waited until Wormtail got a good look at him to make sure. Figured if we got him, Potter would follow."

"And how right you were," sneered Snape, looking down on Harry as he lay on the floor. "Mr Potter's arrogance knows no bounds. Playing the hero was always his way. However, his skills as a wizard, as I'm sure he now realises, simply cannot support such an ego, no matter how much he wishes it were so. The apple never falls far from the tree."

If Harry had been able to move, he would have been crying. As it was, he lay frozen, as Nott resumed his torture. It was horrible. He would have preferred take the curse himself. Nothing could have been worse than knowing he was responsible for his friend's pain, and knowing he was totally, completely helpless. The only comparable feeling was being similarly helpless as he saw Dumbledore finally fall. Fall to Snape. The same person that had put him in this bind, that was making him helpless. It was nothing short of unbearable.

"Wormtail, if it were up to me, you wouldn't be living here at all, but as you're living in my house under none other than the Dark Lord's orders, kindly remember to clean up after yourself," said Snape, examining a dirty plate sitting on a coffee table in front of the chair upon which Nott was once again sitting. "Honestly, you were cleaner as a rat. Now, I must fetch the Dark Lord. Remember what I said. Nott, I see you're intent on having fun with the Weasley boy, so just make sure you don't overdo it."

With that, Snape swept out of the room.

"So, Potter," came Wormtail's breathy voice, as he knelt down and faced Harry. "Still thanking me for bringing you here? Got a little more than you bargained for, hey? I tell you what, the Dark Lord will be very pleased to see you. He wasn't going to look for you for another few weeks, yet, but you fell right into his hands. Now we just play the waiting game. It will only be a matter of time before the Dark Lord is here himself. In the mean time, you just get comfortable and watch the show."

The rest of the show was short lived, however. Without warning, five pops echoed off the floorboards, five figures materialised in the room, and five beams of red light flew across the room. Wormtail crashed to the ground as two of the beams cannoned into him, while Nott crumpled into his chair as three found their mark with him.

"Wotcher, Harry," came a voice, and Harry suddenly found himself once again able to move. A soft hand grabbed his arm, and the voice Harry now recognised as Tonks' continued "There are more Death Eaters on the way, we have to go now."

But as she spoke, three more figures strode into the room. Clearly not expecting to find Order members there, the new Death Eater arrivals froze for a moment, before spells started flying. Harry was pushed into the corner as Tonks joined the fray. He tried to get up, but his wand had gone missing. He had dropped it when put in the full body bind, and in all the confusion it had disappeared.

"Harry, your wand,"called Tonks, as another three Death Eaters entered the room. Harry recognised Kingsley Shacklebolt sending a powerful Bludgeoning curse at two Death Eaters he couldn't place, while Remus Lupin was standing over Ron, duelling with Alecto Carrow. Tonks had his wand in her other hand, and he leapt forward to grab it while she duelled with a young Death Eater. She had a distinct advantage over the inexperienced dueller, but the young man managed to release a stream of fire at Harry as he exposed himself. Harry caught the attack full in the face, and was propelled backwards, his face burning.

Tonks took advantage of her opponent's distraction and Stunned him, before turning urgently to Harry. She performed a quick painkilling charm, but Harry was out of the fight before he'd even started.

Tonks relieved Kingsley of one of his opponents, while the two other fighters Harry didn't recognise managed to gain the upper hand over their Death Eater opponents. Eventually, the Death Eaters numbers were cut down to just two, against the four Order members, though Kingsley had received a nasty gash across his right shoulder that was bleeding freely. His arm was hanging useless by his side, and he was using his left hand to fight.

The Death Eaters looked at each other, panicked. This gave one of the new fighters the opportunity to land a strong Bludgeoning curse. As the final Death Eater saw his comrade go down, he fled, Disapparating before he could be hit by the four curses now aimed at him.

"Let's go, let's go, there might be more coming," urged Tonks, hurrying back over to Harry.

"_Accio wands_," said one of the fighters, who Harry now saw was sporting a long ponytail. He looked vaguely familiar. 8 wands flew into his outstretched hand. "Want to make life as difficult for them as possible, right? It's a pity I'm not on duty. Not that locking them up would do any good now anyway."

"Whatever, Williamson," said Lupin. "Let's just get them out of here, come on."

Harry listened distractedly to these voices as they floated around his head. He was far too preoccupied with the burning pain consuming his face to pay much attention. Tonks had taken the edge off the pain with her painkilling charm, but it wasn't enough to remove the pain completely. With a sudden lurch, Harry found himself being sucked into that familiar squeezing feeling, as Tonks took his arm and Apparated back to Headquarters.

Please R&R! Barely had anything so far. :(


End file.
